


By Any Other Name

by Carrogath



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fix-It, Sexual Content, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-11-28 16:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20969918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath
Summary: Dorothea enters the war for a cute girl.She has no regrets. (Well, maybe one.)--UPDATE: This has been dropped.





	1. Prologue - Miklan

The cry that ripped from the monster’s throat sounded more human than animal.

The walls shuddered; chunks of stone fell from the ceiling and smashed to the ground, scattering dust as the tower swayed from the impact. Dorothea fell to her knees, as did Linhardt beside her. She could see their classmates positioned alongside the Imperial troops, Edelgard in her scarlet cape chief among them. She hadn’t witnessed Miklan’s transformation—surely, he had been a man before; after all, there had been a man standing right there—but all too suddenly the man had become a towering Demonic Beast, a lizard of some sort, but much too vast to be any animal that she recognized.

She heard gasps from the crowd.

“That thing’s massive!”

“It’ll crush us flat!”

“Let me at him!” Caspar bellowed, puffing out his chest.

Linhardt rushed to Caspar’s side. “Fool!” he hissed. “Wait for Edelgard’s command.”

Gilbert and his cavalry rushed in first, spreading barrels of oil around the monster’s feet. Then, a burst of flame ripped from a mage’s fingers.

“Linhardt, now!” Edelgard’s voice pierced the crackling flames.

A stark gust of wind whipped up the fire, sending it higher toward the ceiling and burning the scales of the Demonic Beast. It roared again—sounding eerily like an injured Miklan—but dared go no further against the rising wall of flames.

“Bernadetta!”

“R-right!”

A volley of arrows followed, flying through the fire and piercing the Beast’s armored hide. It screamed again, enraged, and threw its armored bulk against the fire. Edelgard was directly in front of it.

“Milady!” Hubert’s magic struck it from the left, and it turned to hiss at him, clawing at him from a distance.

“Ferdinand!” Ferdinand, who had used the time to set up his troops behind the monster, charged it from the back. He and his men ran into the Beast with their lances, drawing blood. The Beast lashed its tail in pain—Caspar had driven his axe between its eyes, and it could no longer see—and swiped around blindly with long, pointed claws.

Edelgard rushed in to protect Caspar—stupid, stupid—and Dorothea could see the blood streaming from her body as she was thrown aside. Edelgard’s personal guard crowded in front of her, while Hubert rushed to her side. Caspar appeared to be injured by the same swipe, and Linhardt was helping him back to his feet. The Beast was now throwing itself indiscriminately against everything—the fire, the soldiers, the walls, the floor—and the smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils. Petra was defending Linhardt as he worked, which left…

The Beast had flung away Gilbert and his men like ragdolls, and Ferdinand was chasing after it as it charged headlong toward Edelgard’s troops. Even the dark magic Hubert had been using to hinder it seemed to have no effect, as it snatched up Edelgard’s guards in its jaws and tossed them aside.

She was going to die.

Dorothea commanded a wide range of spells, even for a mage, and her early life as an orphan living on the streets meant she had had plenty of time to acquaint herself with them for the purposes of self-defense. She was rarely issued direct orders in battle, instead left to her own devices and free to use her abilities as she pleased among those with more rigid roles to play. She could heal, she could defend, she could attack, she could do it all—magic crackled between her fingertips, surging through every nerve in her body—and on some occasions—she had thought herself exhausted, but perhaps… perhaps she had enough stamina for one more—the freedom of choice left her completely paralyzed.

There was a loud snap, as if a tree had split in half. She felt it more than she saw it: a bolt of lightning that shot through the open ceiling, faster than any arrow, and struck the Beast, streaking through every vein, burning hot through cursed flesh, and Dorothea stood rooted to the spot, overwhelmed by the sheer brute force of her own power.

She’d always hated herself, but maybe, today at least, she had been of some sort of use.

Her vision dimmed, and just before it blackened, she saw Ferdinand on his steed leap high up into the air, and his lance pierce through the monster’s neck. The scream that followed sounded exactly like Miklan’s.

When she collapsed, the ground rose up to meet her.


	2. Firsts

Dorothea hadn’t even been thinking about her birthday when Edelgard approached her with an offer to celebrate it.

“Dorothea,” she said, after classes had ended that day.

It had been two weeks since the incident at Conand Tower, during which their class had been tasked with subduing a threat from a group of bandits lead by Miklan—an ousted noble from House Gautier in Faerghus who had stolen the family Relic. As opposed to everyone else, Edelgard and Hubert had seemed strangely calm when Miklan transformed into a Demonic Beast. With the help of the Imperial troops they’d brought in as reinforcements, and a Knight of Seiros by the name of Gilbert, they were able to slay the Beast and recover the Gautier Relic.

Edelgard, however, had been badly injured while leading the charge. It was strange to see her up and about after two weeks in the infirmary, during which Dorothea and Manuela alike had fussed over her recovery and over the wealth of white scars that crossed her body in every direction. Linhardt had been the most reasonable out of all of them; he assured Edelgard that she would heal in due time, and requested that she not strain herself during the process.

In fact, looking at her now, one wouldn’t have guessed that she had been injured at all.

“Yes?” Dorothea asked, with a polite (and what she’d hoped passed for deferential) smile.

“I must thank you for your efforts in the infirmary these past two weeks. I know I can be a difficult patient.”

“Oh, no, it was all Manuela and Linhardt. I was just being nosy.”

Edelgard ignored her feeble attempts at humility. “I’d heard your birthday was coming up soon. Perhaps we could celebrate it?”

Her eyes widened. “Celebrate?”

Edelgard blinked. “Did I say something odd?”

“Oh, no.” Dorothea lapsed into an awkward silence. “Although, I have to ask, what have I done to deserve anything from you?”

She laughed, as though it were entirely obvious. “I’ve been feeling as though I’ve been rather cold toward my classmates as of late—and you’ve taken the most time out of all of them to be friendly toward me, so I thought I should try to reciprocate. Though, if you think me too forward—”

“Not at all,” Dorothea blurted. “I would love it if we could something for my birthday. Um… Just the two of us? Or were you thinking of inviting the whole class?”

“Certainly not,” she chuckled. “I think the two of us is enough, unless you’d prefer to have the whole class join.”

“No,” said Dorothea, “the two of us is fine. It’d be rather embarrassing to invite the others considering you haven’t done this for anyone else… But why me?”

Edelgard touched her stomach, where the monster had gouged her. “Your magic saved me. And, to be clear, this isn’t simply because I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I believe I’ve done you a great disservice in refusing you whenever you invite me out. I might be busy, but I’m not too busy to have friends.” She smiled. “I figured we might as well start somewhere. Don’t you think?”

“Aha.” She felt as light as a feather. “Well, so long as you’re offering… What will it be?”

“I was thinking of inviting you for tea. On our next free day, perhaps, in the afternoon?”

She smiled, suppressing the massive grin that was threatening to spread over her face. “I have supplementary lessons with Professor Hanneman in the afternoon, but afterwards—I’d love to.” She refused to read anything more into the conversation. Absolutely not.

Even though she’d already gotten an eyeful of her (albeit an unpleasantly gory one at first), she wasn’t about to ask for any more. This conversation meant nothing. She was just being friendly. Just being friendly… as Edelgard’s eyes dipped curiously toward her chest—they’d done that before, and more than once—and then rose up to meet her gaze as though nothing at all had happened.

“Ah…”

“Yes?”

Edelgard’s brow creased. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” But she continued to stare at her as though she wanted to say something.

Dorothea opened her mouth, and then closed it.

Edelgard had definitely noticed her staring at her body in the infirmary for longer than was considered appropriate. Much longer.

Hadn’t she?

“I’m sorry,” she blurted.

“For… what?”

Dorothea blushed. “You didn’t… I mean, in the infirmary, I was totally…”

She looked confused. “What? What did you do?”

Oh, Goddess, how to explain… “I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you.”

Then it was Edelgard’s turn to blush. She looked shocked, embarrassed, and offended all at once. “Dorothea!” Then she looked away, furiously red. “Why on earth would you admit…”

“I thought you noticed!”

“I did; I just…” Edelgard exhaled, “I was trying to be discreet.”

“Didn’t it bother you?”

“No,” said Edelgard, and frowned, and furrowed her brow, as if she were confused about what she had said, because Dorothea definitely was. “I didn’t think anyone could possibly have that sort of reaction to…” She covered her mouth with her hand.

If Edelgard’s face could turn any redder, she thought, it might burst into flame.

“Please forget what I said.”

“Noted,” said Dorothea, dumbly, and watched as Edelgard turned around and walked a good five meters, and then turned and walked straight back.

“Does four o’ clock sound good to you?”

“That sounds delightful.”

“Then it’s decided,” said Edelgard, rigidly, and walked off and didn’t look back.

Dorothea watched her until she was out of sight, and then stared down at her boots.

What in Sothis’s name had _that_ been?

* * *

Dorothea found herself with plenty to do between Edelgard’s invitation and her birthday, and nearly forgot about it when the fated day arrived. It was a clear day in Horsebow Moon, unseasonably warm and comfortable enough to walk around in only her uniform jacket. Edelgard reminded her of their appointment prior to class—which earned her a jealous look from Hubert that she graciously ignored—and then met at their scheduled time by the courtyards in front of the entrance hall.

If there was anything noble about Edelgard that Dorothea appreciated, it was that she knew how to set a tea party. Not only had she managed to section off an entire courtyard to themselves, she had also ordered a three-tiered serving tray, six different types of tea in six separate compartments in a painted wooden box, a full set of china brought in straight from the Imperial capital, a tall vase bursting with red and white carnations from the greenhouse, and, of course, so many little cakes and sandwiches that she didn’t know where to start. She almost regretted eating lunch.

As the crown princess of the Adrestian Empire, Edelgard was obliged to be a generous host. She attempted to cultivate a sense of unity and openness within their class, but she was also fiercely protective of her own privacy, and for lack of better phrasing, had little practical experience with the ways in which the common people lived. Although she seemed to realize that her attempts to make Dorothea feel welcome had possibly delivered to excess, she acted as though she had done nothing wrong.

In fact, she hardly seemed to be paying attention to Dorothea at all. After they had sat down, and Edelgard had offered her her choice of any six types of tea and anything else on the tray that she might fancy, she’d proceeded to stare ostensibly at nothing and retreat into her own little world for the rest of their allotted thirty minutes.

Dorothea sighed and picked at an apple tart. “Here I thought we’d be having a pleasant chat over afternoon tea, and instead you spend it staring off into the horizon.”

“Oh.” Edelgard started out of her reverie, straightening her posture. “I’m sorry. I must have been daydreaming again.” She blinked and shook the hair out of her face, clearly flustered. “Would you mind repeating what you said?”

Dorothea cracked a smile. “Nothing… I was just thinking about how cute you are when you get all lost in thought.”

She blushed. “Were you?” She cleared her throat. “I suppose I should be flattered, then.” She tossed a few long strands of hair over her shoulder, effortlessly enough to look practiced. “I apologize for ignoring you after finally having set aside the time for us to meet.”

“Oh,” said Dorothea, “don’t worry. I could stare at you all day.” She caught herself a second too late, realizing how tasteless that had sounded after her last gaffe.

Edelgard, by far the more elegant of them, laughed it off. “If that’s the case, then perhaps I should keep quiet so as to not spoil your view.”

She grinned. “Look at you! You’re awful.”

Edelgard picked up her teacup in both gloved hands and sipped from it, hiding a smirk. “Whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“My intention was not merely to flatter, Edie,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “As you know, my praise always given in earnest—not least when it comes to you.”

“I’m well aware.”

“And modest, too, I see.”

Edelgard snorted into her drink. “I meant ‘of your sincerity.’”

“A little confidence is always healthy,” said Dorothea, plucking a sugar-dusted teacake from the serving tray. “And it’s not just your face. The way you carry yourself—your composure, your mannerisms, your disposition–it’s striking. You play the part almost too well. Though, I suppose… I’ll admit to having more than a little experience with that, myself.” She popped the cake into her mouth.

“Well, of course,” she said. “In order to command respect, I must act as if I am owed it.”

“Mm,” Dorothea hummed in agreement as she chewed, and then swallowed. “You are our future Emperor, after all: beautiful, untouchable… immaculate.”

“That’s a bit excessive,” Edelgard remarked.

“Really? Once you become Emperor—”

“Then it will be well within my means to project an image that is more human than divine. I have no desire to be treated like a god.”

“Even by your… special someone?” Dorothea leaned in and batted her eyelashes.

Edelgard suppressed another snort. “Why do you ask, Dorothea?”

“I was thinking about how lonely you must get on those cold winter nights.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

Oh?

The expression vanished from her face as quickly as it had appeared, and she put down her teacup. “With Hubert hovering over me every minute of every day? I think not.”

“You know what I mean,” said Dorothea. “Hubert is your servant. I was thinking along the lines of something a little more…” she sucked in a breath through her teeth, “intimate.”

“Hmm,” she said. “That would be difficult.”

“I’m curious about the type of person you like.”

She smiled wryly. “I do hope you’re not trying to set me up with anyone.”

“Oh, heavens, no. With the future Emperor? Most people would run away screaming. The only ones left would be precisely the ones you wouldn’t want to share an evening with, let alone your entire life.”

“Shouldn’t you be more worried about yourself?”

“I can’t think about myself all the time—I mean, I could, but I don’t.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Besides, I have become quite fond of you in the short time we have gotten to know each other, and, well… I worry for your happiness.”

Edelgard looked baffled. “Why would you worry about that?”

“That’s what friends do.” Dorothea looked at her. “Don’t they?”

She recomposed herself. “Yes,” she said, though she didn’t sound sure of herself, “but it’s not… I think happiness will come naturally, after I’ve achieved my goals.”

She sighed and placed a hand on her cheek. “You and your goals… I’m sure I’ve only ever seen you studying, training, or fighting. And if not any of those, then you’re talking to Hubert. I know your life must be awfully demanding, being that of the future Emperor and all, but if it stays that way, then you’re not going to last very long.”

Edelgard smiled. “I appreciate the concern, but there’s really no need—”

“Did I sound like I was giving you a choice?” She sat up. “Let me rephrase that, then: we’re doing this more often, and we’re doing it even if Hubert holds a knife to my throat and threatens to off me for imposing my whimsies on your terribly busy schedule.”

“Really, Dorothea, I’m quite content with how my schedule is.”

“Oh, so then what you’re really saying is that you’d rather not have to sit here and tolerate my staring at your face for half an hour.”

“You don’t have to stare,” said Edelgard, and then covered her mouth when she saw the grin on Dorothea’s face.

“Is that so?” she asked, leaning a little over the table. “Then what would you rather have me do?”

“That… wasn’t an invitation,” she said, looking away. “Although, you may interrupt my reveries at any time. I tend to be distracted. I realize that. I’m used to being surrounded by people who feel as though they must wait for my permission before speaking—but you know that isn’t the case with us.”

“Before speaking,” Dorothea said, and thrilled at the way Edelgard’s blush seemed to deepen past her neck, “right. Not to mince words, but you are looking as though you might need someone to… distract you from your thoughts sooner, rather than later.”

Edelgard picked up her tea and sipped it. “I still don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“I don’t mean to be a bother,” said Dorothea, although she was long past the point of niceties and by now openly ogling her tablemate, “but… know that I’m always available for anything you may require, and that I ask for nothing in return save your peace of mind.”

Edelgard sighed and put down her teacup, and then smiled at her. If she rolled her eyes—which she did not, and Dorothea wasn’t sure if doing that had ever even occurred to her, so far above the language of the common folk was she—then she’d surely be doing it now. “For the sake of eliminating any misunderstandings, I must ask. Are you prop—”

“Yes,” Dorothea answered firmly. “I am.”

There was that beautiful flush across her cheeks again. “I’ll think about it,” she said, and drained her cup and set it back on the platter so roughly that it clattered against the surface with a loud _clink_. “But if anyone else learns about this, then it will inevitably result in much more serious consequences than what a simple dalliance with any other woman might incur.” Her gaze flickered up, unexpectedly fierce. “Is that clear?”

Dorothea exhaled. “Crystal.”

The tension from Edelgard’s shoulders faded, and she wet her lips. “My mouth is feeling quite dry all of a sudden,” she said, discomfited, and Dorothea laughed.

* * *

Wyvern Moon was decidedly slow for their class, on the whole. No one save Edelgard and Ferdinand seemed to have been bothered by the fact that they’d lost the battle at Gronder Field to the Blue Lions. If anything, Caspar and Petra seemed even more motivated to improve their skills. After a brief spat in the classroom the day after returning from the battle, Edelgard and Ferdinand looked less discouraged, and life went on as usual.

Except for the fact that Edelgard hardly ever made eye contact with her nowadays, and that ever since rumors about the Death Knight started floating around the monastery, she had become increasingly reclusive. Dorothea generally wasn’t one to pry, but masked knights going around kidnapping people was a sensible cause for concern, she thought, and the way Edelgard acted around the whole matter suggested that she knew more about it than she was letting on. On top of that, Rhea’s favored class, the Blue Lions, had been charged with rescuing a former student named Monica von Ochs two months prior. Dorothea asked Felix about the whole affair, and with a bit of prodding he let slip that the Death Knight had been after a sacred Relic stored in one of the mausoleum crypts.

Edelgard recognized the name of the Relic immediately. “The Sword of the Creator…” she said. “It can only be wielded by one who possesses the Crest of Flames.”

They sat on the bed in Edelgard’s room—Dorothea had no intention of laying a hand on her and said as much—discussing what had happened prior to the practice battle at Gronder Field. Dorothea had apparently wheedled more information from the Blue Lions than Hubert was capable of extracting, and figured that now was as good a time as any to share.

Edelgard looked at her. “The Crest of Flames… Do you know anything about it?”

“No,” said Dorothea. “Why? Is it special?”

“According to legend, it’s a Crest associated with the goddess of this land—with Sothis. Every other Crest is associated with one of the heroes of legend. Only one is linked to the Goddess herself.” Edelgard was quiet. “They kept it out of the hands of—of the Death Knight, but there’s no telling when he might be back, especially given that he was successful in kidnapping one of the students.”

“How… much do you know about these people, exactly? They don’t appear to be mere bandits. In fact, I’m pretty sure—”

“They have spies at the Academy. Yes.” Edelgard stared at her again, and then looked away. “It’s just like him… I don’t know what Rhea’s thinking, continuing to operate as if nothing has happened. You already know about the state that the Empire is in. My father—wracked with illness. The nobility… I’ve noticed they’ve increased security around the monastery grounds, permanently, but it would almost be better if they hadn’t.”

“What can we do?” Dorothea looked around her room, warily. If that was the case, then there was no telling what manner of strange magical implements had been placed around the academy by their enemies, or what kind of spells had been cast on its residents. If Edelgard knew even more than she did, she didn’t blame her for being so paranoid.

Edelgard didn’t respond.

“You and Hubert didn’t come to the Academy simply to learn, did you? You came looking for answers. I don’t think it’s any secret that the Empire has been up to something for decades, now. And if you’re caught up in the middle of it…”

Edelgard stared at her. “Can you keep a secret?”

“A secret?” Dorothea thought about it. Whatever she wanted to tell her, it sounded weighty. “Um… I do want to help. But I’m not sure if I can.”

“Telling you would be more than enough.”

“Then, yes.” Dorothea looked back at her, and was met with a gaze so intense that she had to resist looking away. “What is it?”

“The Crests… Contrary to what Miklan believed, they don’t have to be inherited. They can be forced onto a person’s body. Artificially. The Empire has been doing it for years. I have reason to believe that the Church has been doing it as well.”

She felt something cold settle in the pit of her stomach.

“I know this… because it happened to me. My first Crest is a Minor Crest of Seiros. My second…” she looked down, “is the Crest of Flames. A Major Crest is required to inherit the Adrestian throne. The Hresvelg dynasty would have ended with my father. None of his children had Major Crests. My uncle offered to conduct dark magic experiments…” She cleared her throat. “Pardon me. I was his first success with the Crest of Flames—the only legitimate heir to House Hresvelg. My life in exchange for the throne. As long as my uncle lives, the Hresvelgs are rulers in name only.”

She responded immediately. “Why keep you alive at all? The Insurrection already happened. If all he was after was power…”

“It wasn’t just power. He and Rhea were… competing. To see who could succeed in manifesting the Crest of Flames first. I have to keep it a secret—I can’t let her know. I don’t know if she’s succeeded, either.”

“Why is it so important, though? Even Nemesis was defeated eventually.”

“The Crest Stones… You saw how they transformed Miklan.” Edelgard stared at her.

“No,” said Dorothea. “No.” She furrowed her brow. “No. No, you can’t be…”

“You cannot tell anyone else about this,” she said, grasping the bedsheets between her fingers. “I absolutely forbid it.”

“Why?” she hissed. “Why would anyone… They were human? Demonic Beasts have been… They’re crawling all over Edmund territory. You don’t mean to tell me—”

“That is what I seek to end. Rhea and Lord Arundel have been planning this for a very long time. They’ve locked the entire continent into a cold war.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Edelgard grabbed her shoulders. “Dorothea, please. You’re… I hope that I can trust you. Once Hubert learns about this, he’ll be stalking you all day—I apologize. But someone has to know.”

She chuckled brokenly. “This is all because I was stupid enough to flirt with you, isn’t it?”

Edelgard sighed and let go. “I’m sorry… You wanted to know me better, but…” She looked away. “My only chance is to survive until coronation day. Lord Arundel will be expecting me to declare war on the Church.”

“The _Church_?” Dorothea paused. “On second thought, why am I not surprised?”

“His plan is to use me to reunify the continent under the Empire—and then… Use the rest of the population for his experiments. There’s a legendary race of shapeshifting dragons called the Nabateans—he thinks he can bring them back. With magic. And the Church is the key. He’s been convinced that the Church has been hiding the secret to transformation ever since he learned that he and Rhea shared the same goal of manifesting the Crest of Flames.”

“That sounds like absolute madness,” said Dorothea, gaping.

“Rhea—from what I understand—believes it will bring her closer to the Goddess. To Sothis. My uncle is simply interested in the Crest’s power. My survival was his one concession to my father, in exchange for making me a mere figurehead on the throne. His plan is dependent on my submission to his will. He believes that I’m simply interested in seeing the destruction of the Church. I’ve managed to convince him of that.” She clenched her jaw. “The Empire is deeply divided. If anyone learns just how unstable the Empire is right now, it could lead to absolute chaos.” Edelgard’s gaze flickered to her. “I’m sorry… All you did was make a pass at me and now I’m—I’m sorry.” She wiped her face, which Dorothea realized was wet with tears.

Dorothea sighed and smiled at her. “It’s… That’s… That sounds like a lot of pressure.” That was a massive understatement, and she tried to smother the feeling of regret weighing on her chest.

This was the last person at the Academy she should have seduced, princess or no.

Edelgard sniffled, and then pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Most people… You were the first person at the Academy to show me kindness. You and Manuela. Manuela pretended like she didn’t even see my scars during the initial physical exam.” She laughed. “Now I regret not making more time to see the opera.”

“You have more… urgent matters at hand. I’d understand if opera wasn’t the first thing on your mind.” Dorothea felt a powerful urge to pull her into a hug and refuse to let go, but that didn’t feel appropriate to do right now.

“Why are you being so kind to me?”

Dorothea looked at her. “Huh?”

Edelgard smiled wanly at her. “I mean… Before you knew me, even—why did you… I thought you hated nobles.”

“I thought _you_ hated nobles,” replied Dorothea, as a matter of course.

“Well, you’re right.” She giggled into her hand. “I hate how they turn down their noses at people. I hate how stratified the social hierarchy has become. Once I become Emperor, I’ll definitely do something about it.”

Dorothea smiled. “Then that’s all the reason I need.” She leaned in, and looked at her face, weighing what she could do without crossing too many boundaries.

She settled for brushing Edelgard’s hair out of her face. Edelgard leaned into it, though her expression as she did so was hard to read.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For listening.” Edelgard clasped a hand around Dorothea’s wrist. “I’ve needed to get all of that off my chest to someone. Anyone. I’ll probably regret saying any of that tomorrow, but for now…” She stared down at the floor, and Dorothea slipped her hand away from her face. “I’m sorry. I believe you—I do want to trust you. The opera company seems to be…” She exhaled. “I don’t understand a single thing about how this is supposed to work,” she said, and laughed.

“How what is supposed to work, exactly?” asked Dorothea, attentively.

“Relationships. Empathy. People. You. If I could learn it from a book, I think I’d understand it right away.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Petra understands it better than me, and she barely speaks the language. It doesn’t feel real—having friends, feasting, spending time with the other students at the Academy… People act like it’s normal, but to me it isn’t. So…”

“Is this about the tea party?”

“No,” said Edelgard. “It’s more than that.” She laughed and brought her hand up to massage her forehead. “I can’t believe I told you that I’d think about it. I suppose it’s normal for someone my age to… I have no sense of what is and what isn’t. I feel like some kind of monster.”

“You’re doing fine,” said Dorothea, hoping she sounded more reassuring than she felt. “Really. You’re already way ahead of Linhardt and Bernadetta. And you’re easier to talk to than Hubert.”

“I appreciate your efforts to console me, even if I don’t necessarily believe them.”

“Ouch,” she said, but she was grinning.

“Why do you want to sleep with me?” Edelgard asked, all of a sudden as composed as anything.

“Um,” said Dorothea, and then, “because I was being an idiot and thinking with my libido instead of my brain. You are very pretty—you do realize that, don’t you?”

She smiled and tilted her head. “Not… particularly. Whenever someone praises me, I assume they want something from me, and I’m usually correct.”

“Honestly, I don’t think most people are saying it only to flatter.”

The smile faded. “Perhaps.”

Dorothea grinned a little. “If I, um… If we do… decide to be intimate, I think I’d like to show you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Show me? Show me what, exactly?”

“How beautiful you are.”

Edelgard blushed. “Pardon?”

She allowed her voice to take on a bit of a purr. “I know this might seem forward of me,” she said, leaning over, “but more than anything, I really want to you to feel special. You’re always so covered up. And I saw most of the scars when I helped Manuela with you after we fought Miklan, but you’re gorgeous. Neither of us are really the romantic type, so I’m not necessarily looking for a relationship, but… I think I’d be content with making you feel like the only person in the world for one night.” She smiled and put her hands in her lap. “Sound good?”

Edelgard tugged at her collar. “You’re really attracted to that? To… me?”

“Why not?”

She looked puzzled. “You’re not just telling me that?”

“Of course not. Your skin is so fair, and your eyelashes are so long, and your hair is so straight and so fine and so pretty—”

Edelgard waved her hand in embarrassment. “All right, all right. I understand.”

“Though, I mean, considering everything you just told me…”

“It’s not high on my list of priorities, no. I’ve no previous experience, either, so you’d be responsible for my first time.”

Dorothea swallowed. “Whoa.”

“Don’t tell me you expected something else?”

“No, no.” She chuckled nervously. “Wow. This is kind of a big deal, huh?”

Edelgard leaned against her elbow and smiled at her. “I wish I had your problems.”


	3. Sourdough

Red Wolf Moon saw the leaders from all three houses heading to Remire Village to investigate a strange disease. Dorothea only heard of it after the fact, but Edelgard, Hubert, Linhardt, and Ferdinand all returned looking haggard. She resorted to begging details from Lorenz, who told her, very briefly, that the threat against the Church was growing, and that innocent people were being caught up in the conflict. After what Edelgard had told her, she couldn’t say she was surprised, but the effect that the mission had had on all the remaining students was chilling.

Edelgard herself treated her like a stranger, and looked as though she was caught between avoiding Dorothea completely and throwing herself at her at the next possible opportunity. Hubert issued her both verbal and written warnings to stay away from his charge, though they seemed more rote than earnest, and she spent most of the month studying under Hanneman, training with Petra, and planning Bernadetta’s birthday with various other members of the class. (They were definitely going to offer her cake, though they had no delusions that she would accept it, given that it could be poisoned, or laced with tiny pieces of metal, or whatever excuse Bernadetta was going to give in refusing it.)

Ethereal Moon was when Edelgard changed. Somewhere between the White Heron Cup—which Dorothea had handily won, to the degree that it almost felt unfair—and the mission in the chapel ruins—in which the Demonic Beasts they were fighting were revealed to be their own classmates—Edelgard had stopped pretending that there wasn’t a real and powerful attraction between them. After the ball, during which they had both avoided making eye contact with each other, Edelgard dragged Dorothea back to her room (the second floor dormitories being conspicuously empty that evening, which led Dorothea to believe that this had been planned in advance), and pulled her down into a kiss.

If the kiss had been clumsy at first, Dorothea made sure it didn’t stay that way. Edelgard yanked at her clothes—not to remove them, but simply to keep herself upright—and kissed her fervently, placing one hand behind her neck and the other at the base of her skull to cradle her head, and it was Dorothea who parted them for air, flushed and panting.

“You didn’t tell me you were so good at dancing,” Edelgard gasped, pressing their foreheads together.

“It was hardly erotic.”

“Goddess, the way you moved—”

“You exaggerate.” It was Edelgard who had pushed Dorothea against the wall—not entirely unexpected, considering that Edelgard was much stronger than her despite her smaller size—and she was feeling a little cornered.

Edelgard clutched the lapels of her jacket. “I couldn’t banish the thought from my mind. It’s positively demonic, what you’re doing to me.”

“I did nothing,” she said, though in reality she was beginning to feel rather pleased with herself.

Edelgard kissed her again, and then pulled away and threw herself against her bedspread. “I’m exhausted. I think I must have danced with at least twelve different people tonight.”

“But not with Dimitri.”

Edelgard snickered. “I don’t think Dimitri could bring himself to touch me, let alone ask me to dance.”

“You should have given him a chance.”

“That isn’t my choice to make.”

Dorothea lay down on the bed beside her. “You haven’t told me,” she said, lowering her voice to a murmur, “how you’ve been feeling.”

“Terrible.” Edelgard stared up at the ceiling. “I know exactly what to expect, and at the same time, I don’t know at all. Outside of the actual physical procedure of implanting a Crest, the Sword of the Creator is the only way to manifest the Crest of Flames. To prove that I have it… Well, the coronation ceremony will happen no matter what, but it’ll be difficult to prove my claim to the throne without it.”

“You’re not saying you’ll have to steal it?”

“I won’t be giving the orders to do so personally, though it will be stolen for my sake. But it seems as though my uncle—as well as Rhea, really—is doubling his efforts to force artificial Crests onto more people. If we don’t stop them soon, they’ll have turned the entire population of Fódlan into monsters.”

“Edie…” Dorothea pushed herself up and kissed her, a brief peck on the lips. “I wish I could do more for you.”

Edelgard stared up at her. “Even if I do nothing, he’ll likely declare war on the Church anyway. I have to cooperate…” Then her eyes narrowed. “At least until I have a plan to stop him… If I make the wrong choice, then I’ll plunge the Empire into civil war. Even if I don’t—I don’t know, Dorothea.”

“Why doesn’t anyone else know about this?” she asked, looking her in the eyes.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Why not? Surely everyone would listen if you told them your uncle was the real threat. You seem to have a better grasp of what’s going on than anyone else at the monastery.”

“But Rhea…”

“Claude wouldn’t tell her.”

Edelgard looked away. “Dorothea…”

“I’ll admit, I don’t talk to him very much.” Dorothea squeezed Edelgard’s shoulder. “But Petra does, and while I know your relationship with her isn’t the greatest, I can put in a good word for you.”

“I…” She was quiet. “I don’t know about this.”

“You have to learn to trust people.”

Edelgard stared back at her, wide-eyed. She looked frightened.

“Claude has no reason to doubt you,” she continued. “Especially since making this information public is tantamount to turning against your own country—or at least, however much your uncle controls of it.”

“Then, the Empire…”

“Can you really rule as long as he’s controlling you from the shadows?”

Edelgard grabbed her face and kissed her, and Dorothea let herself be kissed, gasping into her touch. For someone who’d had hardly any practice, Edelgard was getting pretty good at this.

“I… I’ll think about it,” she said, when they had separated.

When Dorothea made to push herself off the bed, Edelgard grabbed her arm.

“Stay with me,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Oh,” sighed Dorothea. “When you say it like that, how could I possibly refuse?”

They kissed a little more—a lot more, really—and Dorothea shed her jacket and much of Edelgard’s clothing fell away, although they fell asleep before they could get any further than that, and Hubert knocked on her door in the early hours of the morning so Dorothea could sneak downstairs without drawing attention to herself.

Once she had sequestered herself safely within the walls of her own room, Dorothea recalled how Hubert’s face was so impassive as to be seemingly chiseled out of marble. It had been a remarkable display of self-restraint.

* * *

The first day of Guardian Moon, Dorothea asked Petra if Claude would be open to a meeting with the Black Eagles. Claude then asked Petra why Edelgard couldn’t ask him herself. Petra responded that the matter was extremely sensitive and not something that the Academy would condone (in so many words, considering her limited vocabulary).

That got his attention.

“So. Ladies. Sir.” Claude stretched out his arms on one of the dusty velvet sofas he had dredged up out of somewhere to their meeting place inside the Goddess Tower. Dorothea and her classmates were seated on the opposite one.

Dorothea didn’t bother to ask why they were meeting or what plans Edelgard and Claude had arranged. She met at the appointed place at the appointed time, and would have to be happy with that. Edelgard had brought along Dorothea, Hubert, Petra, and herself; Claude took only Lysithea with him.

“Why is Lysithea here?” Edelgard began. “I was not informed that she would be attending this meeting.”

Claude elbowed Lysithea.

Lysithea growled at him, and dug her elbow into his thigh.

“Ow!”

“I understand you are in possession of two Crests,” said Lysithea, straightening back up. “I… suffer from the same condition, as well.”

Edelgard’s and Hubert’s eyes went wide. They looked at each other.

“I wasn’t aware,” said Edelgard.

“Blame Professor Hanneman,” said Claude.

“That old bastard knew?” Edelgard clenched her jaw. “And to think, I had asked him several times…”

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” replied Lysithea. “And I would like to hear your story, as well. I may be the heir to House Ordelia, but that’s a trifling inheritance compared to the entire Adrestian Empire.”

“I believe this has to do with the failed annexation to the Alliance of House Hrym,” Hubert began. “We are all aware that Jeritza von Hrym is indeed the Death Knight, yes? It was likely then that Lord Arundel had his men occupy the territory—which by then would have included Ordelia—and began using it to conduct his experiments.”

“I was much the same way,” explained Edelgard.

Petra turned to look at Dorothea. She looked hopelessly lost.

“Um…” said Dorothea, to no one in particular. “Did anyone explain anything to Petra before we invited her here?”

“Oh,” said Edelgard, as if she’d forgotten Petra was sitting there.

Claude smiled and shrugged. “I figured she’d catch up.” He winked at Petra. “I believe in you.”

“I do not believe this is a matter of… belief,” Petra replied. She sat very still. She looked tense.

“All right.” Claude leaned back into the sofa and kicked his feet up on the matching ottoman—actually, how long had that been there? “So you know how a lot of people in Fódlan have these magical symbols called Crests?” He spun his finger around in a circle, as if to illustrate his point.

Petra nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, you’ve taken basic magic classes here, so you probably already know that they’re naturally inherited—passed down from parent to child. Sometimes it skips a generation, or doesn’t show up until several generations later. We don’t really know how it works. But, anyway, some people have found a way to force people to manifest Crests they weren’t born with.”

Petra nodded again. “I see.”

“Apparently it involves a lot of…” Claude winced, “failures. And people going crazy. Or dying.” He waved his hand. “So anyway, Lysithea has two Crests as a result of these gruesome experiments. And so does Edelgard.” He looked at Edelgard. “Is that about everything?”

“That’s… not how I would have explained it,” replied Edelgard, “but you more or less speak the truth.” She turned to Petra. “You already saw in the chapel ruins that Demonic Beasts are another side effect of Crests—specifically, humans are transformed into Demonic Beasts when they attempt to wield the power of a Crest Stone, such as that of a Relic, when they are not naturally born with the matching Crest. There are ways to artificially induce this transformation, and there are legends that suggest that certain beings are able to transform of their own will. I believe my uncle is trying to achieve this mythical transformation through his experiments.”

Lysithea’s eyes widened. “He wants to turn himself into a Demonic Beast?”

“Not a Demonic Beast,” Edelgard clarified. “A Nabatean. A dragon, in other words.”

Claude grinned. “A dragon?”

“I’m not making this up,” Edelgard hissed. “Thousands of people have already died for his stupid ambitions.”

“No,” he said, “I get it, but… Why?”

Her voice rose. “Does it matter? I have suffered—” she stood— “in ways that lie beyond the furthest reaches of your meager imagination, and you have the gall to make light of it?”

Hubert stood and put a hand out between Claude and Edelgard. “My lord von Riegan,” he said. “Do refrain from upsetting Her Highness. I fear it may be much more difficult to broker an alliance if we are unable to respect the wishes of all parties involved.” His eyes narrowed into slits.

“All right, all right.” Claude flapped his hand at Hubert dismissively. “But it still doesn’t add up. What’s his end goal? Is he just trying to turn everyone into dragons?”

“I believe that’s the case, actually,” said Edelgard, sitting back down. Hubert made sure to seat himself very closely beside her. “I’m not sure exactly what put the thought into his head—but he seems to believe that all people born in Fódlan were originally descended from the Nabateans, and lost their ability to transform due to intermarriage with the peoples of other nations.”

“Absurd,” Lysithea muttered under her breath.

“We’ve been receiving reports from the Empire of skirmishes with the Church that involve Demonic Beasts, as well,” added Hubert. “So they also appear to be implicated in all of this, though perhaps for different reasons.”

“Ah,” said Claude. “The Church has become way more militant ever since Rhea took over… and she’s been in charge longer than her appearance would suggest. How long has it been, like, thirty years since she became Archbishop? And she still looks the same age.”

“Magic, obviously,” said Edelgard. “I believe Sir Jeralt is the same. It’d make sense, considering they’re old friends.”

“But we fought with him in the chapel ruins,” said Dorothea. “And he didn’t seem to know what was going on any more than we did.”

“They might be friends,” replied Edelgard, “but that doesn’t mean Rhea is necessarily going to tell him everything. Rhea appears to be unusually fixated on the Goddess, even for a holy woman… Honestly, I fear she’s mentally unstable to some degree.”

Lysithea snorted. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that she’s completely obsessed. I’m certain that she’s convinced that she has a personal relationship with the Goddess. And not in only the spiritual sense.”

“But she’s incredibly skilled in combat,” said Edelgard. “And though the Church has always had a standing army, they only started employing those troops on a regular basis once Rhea came to power. It’s as though she was anticipating what the Empire was going to do.”

“We do seem to be headed toward a full-scale war,” Claude observed. “Honestly, I’d rather not have to side with either the Church or the Empire.”

“Then who will you side with?” Edelgard asked dryly. “The Almyrans?”

Claude grinned and winked at her. “How’d you guess?”

“We’re still missing several key pieces of information,” said Lysithea. “Even assuming that the Empire will declare war on the Church, it isn’t clear what will happen if the Church wins. We know that they’re employing Demonic Beasts of their own—but to what end?”

“Well,” said Claude, “it’s not like we can just waltz up to her and ask. She’d probably have us executed on the spot. Although… Maybe there’s something to this whole ‘Nabatean’ myth.”

Edelgard groaned into her hands. “Really, Claude? That’s your conclusion?”

“We’ve already seen plenty of proof that people can transform with the use of Crest Stones,” he said. “And the Nabateans were supposed to be divine beings descended from the Goddess herself. It’d explain some things about the whole Crest-and-Relic system if Demonic Beasts were just the imperfect forms of the real transformations.”

“Even if it were true,” said Edelgard, “why should it matter? All the Crest system has done is sow inequality and conflict. The disparities in wealth between the richest and poorest people in the Empire are so vast as to be laughable. It shouldn’t matter whether anyone can transform or wield Relics or manifest Crests or not. People should be valued for their ideas and their character, not for their inherent physical traits. And to hear this coming from you of all people, Claude…”

“OK,” said Claude, “but still, if there’s a grain of truth to it, then it’s worth investigating. Agreed?”

“If it helps us stop Rhea…” Edelgard finally conceded. “I know there’s something special about the Crest of Flames, but what we know about it from Church literature is so buried in myth and disinformation that I could hardly hope to learn what Rhea or my uncle plan to do with it.”

“Hmm…” Claude leaned over and pinched his chin. “Well, whatever your uncle’s planning, it doesn’t seem like we have much time left to make a decision. What’s the worst-case scenario we’re talking about here?”

Edelgard laughed dryly. “That he attacks the monastery and kills us all in the process. The heirs to the thrones of all three nations are currently living here. It makes sense for him to target the Academy.”

“Even you?”

“It’s entirely possible.”

Claude sighed and leaned back in his seat. “We do have official evacuation plans in case the Academy is attacked. There’s a lot of valuable stuff here that could potentially be looted—”

“The Sword of the Creator,” Edelgard interjected.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, yeah? Why? Know someone who has the Crest of Flames?”

The silence was deafening.

Claude’s eyes fell on Hubert, then Petra, then Dorothea, and then back to Edelgard again. “Let me guess… Volkhard has a little more invested in his precious niece than just collateral for House Hresvelg.”

“And I might not be his only success.”

Claude rubbed the back of his neck. “That being said, even though it’s a Relic, it’s only a sword.”

“Anyone who possesses the Crest of Flames could technically inherit the Adrestian throne, so no, it isn’t ‘only’ a sword.”

“Ooh.” He winced. “Ouch.”

“I don’t think there’s any way to prevent a war,” said Edelgard, “but we may be able to mitigate our losses if we are able to form a united front against my uncle, and, if necessary, against the Church. With the combined forces of the Alliance, the Kingdom, and the Imperial houses faithful to House Hresvelg, waging war against the Church will seem much less intimidating. I have no faith that Rhea will be willing to listen to what I have to say—but if we can dissuade the Kingdom from allying with her, then perhaps…”

“Say you ascend the throne as Emperor when you’re actually supposed to,” said Claude. “Will you wield any real power? Or will you be expected to listen to your uncle?”

“Our original plan was to conquer the whole continent under the Adrestian flag, and begin a series of reforms to weaken the political power of the Church and bring an end to the Crest-based system of governance, in favor of a merit-based one. That doesn’t sound horrible in theory, but that isn’t what my uncle truly desires.”

“Right,” said Claude. “He was just going to use you to get rid of all his other enemies. Hell, he probably offered to help you out.”

Edelgard chuckled. “You don’t even know the half of it.” She looked Claude in the eye. “Now would be the time to begin plotting our means of resistance—he’s already quite comfortably in charge. It will be very difficult for me to form alliances with Leicester or Faerghus if I accept his offer. But if I delay the coronation…”

“Then you could form a resistance within the Empire, among those who remain loyal to you.” Claude grinned. “Nice. And it won’t matter who else he plops down on the throne, since you’ll be pledging to change the way people assume office in the Empire anyway.”

“Right.”

“I like it.” Claude slapped his knees. “We’re all friends here at the Academy, aren’t we?”

“If you mean to get rid of the man who did this to me,” said Lysithea, pointing to her chest, “then I see no reason to object.”

“The Insurrection happened before the Dagda and Brigid War,” said Petra. “I will offer my strength, if you will ensure Brigid’s independence.”

“I was planning on it, honestly,” said Edelgard. “When I become Emperor, you have my word that I will begin the independence process.”

Edelgard and Claude looked at Dorothea.

“So,” said Claude, “you’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Oh, um…” She wrung her hands in her lap. “I’m just an opera singer. I don’t think I have much to add. I could, um…” she ducked her head, “I could contact the opera company, and we could help spread the word. Or something?”

“That’s a brilliant idea, actually,” said Edelgard. Oh, Goddess… “Meet me and Hubert outside the marketplace tomorrow after classes. I believe I may have a job for you.”

“All right,” said Dorothea, feeling ferociously out of her element. “Lead the way.”

* * *

She soon learned that what Edelgard had in mind for her involved more than just her ties to the opera company.

“You’re friendly with some of Dimitri’s classmates, aren’t you? Felix and Sylvain, at least? Perhaps Ingrid, as well?”

They were having a picnic on the grounds just outside of the monastery, she and Hubert and Edelgard. It was brisk, but not freezing, as the climate around the monastery seemed to have a habit of staying mild no matter what the season. Neither of them seemed like the type for picnics, so it felt rather strange. They sat on blankets in a small clearing nearby the surrounding forest, nibbling on cheese and bread and jam and pickles, as though they weren’t discussing how to dismantle the Academy from the inside out.

“I have the feeling that they all hate me to some extent,” said Dorothea, gnawing on a particularly stubborn sourdough roll. “But sure, we talk sometimes. Although, it’s mostly me doing the talking, unless I’m with Sylvain.”

“I’d heard that you came onto Ingrid too strongly when trying to flirt with her and had to use Mercedes as an intermediary to apologize.”

She blushed. “Don’t remind me. I’d almost managed to forget about that.”

“Who would be the easiest of the three to approach about this, do you think?”

“Ingrid.” Dorothea’s response was immediate. “Her family’s lands are barren; the soil is rocky; and it’s difficult to grow anything—or at least, the types of crops that one would normally expect to find in Faerghus. The Galateas are relatively poor, and her father is desperate for her to find a husband to boost them out of poverty. If there was anyone in that class disillusioned with the system, it would definitely be her.”

“Huh,” said Edelgard. “I wouldn’t have expected that answer.”

Dorothea winked at her. “That’s because you don’t know her.” She tapped the side of her cheek. “Who else… Ashe, maybe? After the whole thing with Lord Lonato and all… He’s not as prominent as Ingrid, though. Mercedes could probably be convinced, after Ingrid. Sylvain—probably not. You would have to beat Felix in a swordfight to talk him into joining you, and I think the only one of us who’d even stand a chance is Petra. Oh,” she said, “but Mercedes… Isn’t Jeritza like her brother or something?”

“He’s changed,” said Hubert, “but yes. Our records confirm that he is indeed the man she once knew as Emile von Bartels, before he became Jeritza von Hrym. Given Mercedes’ complicated family life, it’s quite possible Lord Arundel was involved with her brother even prior to the revolt of House Hrym.”

“None of that guarantees that Dimitri will be willing to listen to us, granted,” said Edelgard. “I know how the Tragedy of Duscur still haunts him. He realizes that the Empire was ultimately responsible for it…”

“So he has no reason to trust whatever we might have to say,” Hubert concluded, “even though Lady Edelgard played no part in it. And as you have likely already realized, neither of us are particularly gifted in regards to earning the trust of our peers.”

“And you think I am,” said Dorothea. “This is risky.”

“Lady Edelgard and I will be taking on the brunt of the risk. We will do our utmost to protect you should the need for that arise, but I’m afraid that is all we are able to offer you in terms of assistance with this endeavor.”

“To be clear,” Edelgard added, “this is a request, not an order. You have the right to refuse.”

“Reassuring,” said Dorothea, “but I have the feeling there isn’t much in the way of alternatives. Is there?”

Hubert and Edelgard looked at each other.

“Peaceable alternatives, no,” replied Edelgard. “Which is why we came to you first.”

She spread blueberry jam over a slice of bread, deep in thought. “They’re not… bad people,” she said, “but they’re all close to Dimitri, for the most part. My understanding is that Dimitri has some, um, lingering issues concerning the fate of his family. If anything happens to him, the Kingdom will crumble against the might of the Empire unless they ally with the Church. I appreciate your faith in me, but it’s going to take more than a handful of friendly conversations to accomplish what you’re asking. I don’t think I’m telling you anything new when I say that Dimitri probably views you as his enemy… even if he won’t admit to it.”

“We need proof,” Edelgard sighed, sitting back on her heels, “that we share a common goal. Perhaps we need the sword after all.”

“The Sword of the Creator?” said Dorothea.

Hubert chuckled. “I told you that it would be inevitable, Your Highness. We must retrieve the Sword.”

“And you’re certain you’ll be able to wield it?” asked Dorothea. “I couldn’t fathom you sharing Miklan’s fate.”

“Claude informed me that Lysithea was able to wield both Thyrsus and Thunderbrand,” replied Edelgard. “Unless the legends are completely inaccurate, I’d imagine that I could. Still,” she groaned, “we’re running out of time to explore our other options. I don’t want to make an enemy of the Kingdom, but proving my innocence to Dimitri might take longer than we have.”

“Besides that,” said Dorothea, “what are our other plans? I’d be more than happy to contact the opera company for you—but I have to know what to tell them. And what about Claude? Is the Alliance already pledged to our cause?”

“I wouldn’t worry about him,” said Edelgard. “We’re still making preparations to mobilize our forces against Lord Arundel. I’ll have to convince the rest of our class, as well. Western Faerghus and western Adrestia may be lost to us already, due to their proximity to House Arundel. Eastern Fódlan should be mostly safe. And Rhea wouldn’t risk a three-way war unless she were completely suicidal.”

“You say that,” said Dorothea, “but none of the Imperial heirs have inherited their territories yet. House Bergliez won’t even be going to Caspar.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” said Hubert, in a tone that dissuaded her from asking any more questions on the matter. “The king of Brigid has also been notified of everything we have learned so far. We are waiting on his reply, though Petra has told us that the king will most likely lend his cooperation in exchange for Brigid’s independence. There is still the matter of the Church, as well as the Kingdom. We may have to wait until Lord Arundel invades western Faerghus before offering our aid to them, as callous as that sounds.”

She couldn’t help herself.

“You?” Dorothea gasped, holding a hand to her mouth. “_Callous_? Never!”

Hubert squeezed his eyes shut and said nothing, in a gracious display of tolerance for his lady’s whims.

Dorothea grinned at Edelgard. “You really are too hard on him.”

“This is nothing,” she assured her. “Try spending a day at court. Without attempting to murder anyone.”

“I didn’t think that was even possible,” Dorothea remarked.

“With great courage and endless fortitude, anything is possible,” said Hubert, so sincerely that it had the opposite effect of sounding ironic. “At any rate, I suppose we must prepare ourselves for the likelihood that the Kingdom will not be joining us in our efforts to defeat Lord Arundel. Do you find this course of action acceptable, Lady Edelgard?”

“It’s not ideal,” she replied. “Though it won’t be long before my uncle’s troops begin their assault. They may see reason yet.”

“Lord Arundel will be flying the Imperial standard,” said Hubert, “so we’ll need a different flag. Claude has suggested the Crest of Flames.”

“Which is quite bold,” added Edelgard, “considering Nemesis was the one who bore it last.”

“We’re all heathens as far as the Church is concerned,” said Dorothea, “so perhaps it’s more appropriate than not.”

“But it all means nothing without the Sword,” said Edelgard. “We know where it is, thanks to the Death Knight, but I couldn’t steal it without drawing the attention of the Church.”

“What is Lord Arundel planning?” asked Dorothea. “Will he attack the Kingdom first, or the Church?”

They were quiet for a moment.

Then, Hubert chuckled. “I believe a visit to the capital is in order.”

“Will you be all right?”

Hubert laughed. “There is no need for concern. Lady Edelgard will be well-protected. When we return, however… I would suggest you and Manuela inquire as to the opera company’s whereabouts, and plan to reunite with them. You will be safest traveling around the capital.”

“What about the monastery?” Dorothea asked.

“Evidently, you have yet to witness the extent to which Lord Arundel is willing to employ Demonic Beasts. It will not be fit for habitation once he is done with it.”

Her heart sank. “What about Rhea? The Church?”

“They are likely to ally with the Kingdom. If we are able to intervene in time, we may be able to end the conflict swiftly. I do expect that it will escalate into a full-scale war, however. We will raid the mausoleum prior to Lord Arundel’s attack, and escape south to the Empire in the midst of the subsequent chaos. Lord Arundel will likely have a bounty on our heads for defying his orders. But we will have the Sword.”

“Edie,” she said, looking at Edelgard. “You seem to think that your uncle will only be interested in killing you in retribution for defying him… but didn’t you say that he believes the Church is hiding something?”

Her eyes widened. “Ah…”

Hubert looked at her expectantly. “I would like to know of this theory as well.”

“It’s sheer speculation,” she admitted, “but because they both seem to be after the same thing…”

“What if he’s really after Rhea?” Dorothea asked. “And all this other stuff is a distraction to keep you out of the way?”

Edelgard and Hubert looked at each other.

“The Immaculate One,” Hubert said with a long sigh. “We can’t confirm that it actually exists, but I’d imagine if anyone could, that would be Rhea. It’s the only dragon mentioned in Church history. Even then, it’s little more than a footnote in scripture.”

“But it’s a good a lead as any,” said Dorothea. “Right?”

They looked conflicted.

“I’ll warn our contacts in advance of our visit to the capital,” said Hubert. “We must gather more information, lest we make any other decisions in undue haste.”

“For now,” Edelgard said, “I suppose we can tell Claude to keep a lookout in case my uncle appears to have any designs on Rhea.”

“What can I do in the meanwhile?” asked Dorothea. “I don’t think I could just leave the monastery without telling anyone.”

Hubert looked at Edelgard, and she huffed in frustration.

“I… hadn’t anticipated that you would become so closely involved with us,” she said, turning a little red. She flicked a lock of hair behind her shoulder. “For now, you may do as you please,” and then, with a hint of exasperation, “but do be aware that much of what we have discussed is barely more than speculation.”

“And that you may have become a potential target for our enemies,” Hubert added, eyes glittering darkly, “now that you yourself have become one of Lady Edelgard’s vulnerabilities. While I cannot fault her for being sentimental, if her welfare is truly within your best interests…”

“Enough, Hubert,” Edelgard commanded, sweeping her arm out in front of him. “You forget yourself.”

“Understood.” He bowed his head, shuffled back on his knees, and remained silent.

Dorothea swallowed. The atmosphere was so thick with tension that she’d lost her appetite for anything else.

“I apologize for disrupting your meal,” said Edelgard. “I…” She hesitated. “Please take Hubert’s words to heart. He only means to reiterate what we all already know to be true—that we must act with the utmost caution if we hope to succeed.” She took a deep breath.

“Edie…”

“Hubert was not… exactly thrilled with the idea of involving the Alliance in our fight against Lord Arundel. But I believe Claude would have become our enemy, had we not approached him first. Hubert’s concerns are not without cause,” Dorothea glanced behind Edelgard, to see Hubert with his head still bowed to the ground, “but it behooves us to extend an offer of goodwill to our classmates. We cannot continue to assume that they are all acting in collusion with the enemy. I fear that Hubert’s paranoia and willingness to kill anyone that he considers a threat may be leading him down a dangerous path. As his ward, I am afraid I will be unable to convince him out of his troubling behavior.” She ran a hand through her hair. “But you needn’t concern yourself with it. I’ll discuss the matter with Ferdinand…” She extended a hand. “Please, do try to relax and finish eating. We have a long few weeks ahead of us.”

“Right.”

Just then, a chilly gust of wind blew straight through her, billowing the blankets underneath them and threatening to overturn their picnic basket. Dorothea sighed as she chased after a bread roll that was making its way from the mouth of the basket onto the dusty ground.

Maybe joining them for lunch hadn’t been such a great idea, after all.


	4. Bergamot

Edelgard and Hubert left the following day, leaving Ferdinand as the excitable interim leader of the class and everyone else hopelessly confused. They shared a number of joint training exercises with the Blue Lions while Edelgard was away, injecting some much needed routine into the rest of their week while allowing the Black Eagles to study and observe their classmates’ combat techniques. Linhardt and Dorothea spent most of their time discussing magical applications and theories with Mercedes and Annette, which led to an open invitation to tea from the former and eventual acceptance of the offer by Dorothea in the middle of the week.

“Please,” said Mercedes, offering a seat. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Easier said than done, Dorothea thought, as she settled herself onto a cushion on the floor of Mercedes’ room. As had been the case with Edelgard’s, the spread on the table was generous: a handsomely furnished tea set for two, scones piled high on a serving platter, several jars of jams and honey, and at the opposite end, a sweet and congenial face.

Just as she had begun to settle in, Mercedes spoke up.

“This is in regards to my brother, isn’t it?”

Dorothea nearly dropped her butter knife in surprise.

Mercedes giggled. “There’s no need to be shy. I know it’s unusual for someone to have lived in so many places in so little time. In fact, I was wondering when I might be approached by the Empire about it… or rather,” she looked at her, “by Edelgard.”

“Were you being pursued?” was the first question that came to mind.

“No,” she said, “merely viewed as a hindrance and a burden. As far as I understand it, there was no conspiracy tied to my personal series of misfortunes. While the massacre of House Bartels was almost certainly related to what happened to my brother, I had no part in it. I haven’t spoken to him in a very long time.”

Dorothea giggled nervously. “Wow. You sure don’t beat around the bush, huh?”

“I am concerned for my brother,” she said, fisting her hands in her skirt. “I’m afraid I don’t know very much about what the Empire might be planning, however. So I don’t know how helpful I’d be.”

“You,” said Dorothea, “are severely overstating my involvement in all of this.”

“Nonsense,” she insisted. “I can see that you and she are very close.”

How, Dorothea wanted to ask, but bit the question back.

“Then, if I told Prince Dimitri…” Mercedes continued.

“He’d have no reason to doubt you, agreed,” said Dorothea. But it couldn’t possibly be that easy, could it?

“How do you know about Lord Arundel?” she asked.

“It’s common knowledge that he was the mastermind behind the Insurrection of the Seven,” Mercedes replied. “I think it would be obvious to anyone living in the capital to see the government suddenly changing hands like that, and only so many people are capable of seeing such an ambitious plan through to fruition.”

She stifled a chuckle. “You say that…”

“Perhaps you’re correct.” She smiled. “But it pays to be aware of these things. I would be more than willing to assist Edelgard, if she plans to overthrow her uncle. It’s like a drama, isn’t it? The treacherous uncle, against the renegade princess and rightful heir?”

“That is… rather sudden.” Dorothea glanced around the room.

“If nothing is done about him, then we are all fated to suffer the consequences.” Mercedes looked at her. “Are you still surprised?”

“Can Dimitri be convinced, though?”

“Would it really be so difficult to tell him that Lord Arundel was responsible for the loss of his family, and for the annihilation of the people of Duscur?” Mercedes poured herself a cup of tea, and a tart, fruity scent filled the room. “Despite their awkward relationship now, I don’t think that Dimitri truly believes that Edelgard was involved in any way with the Tragedy of Duscur. She was only a child at the time, after all.” She took a sip and smiled up at her. “Your tea will grow cold, if you don’t drink.”

Dorothea poured herself a cup and sipped it out of courtesy, if nothing else. She’d always liked the fruity blends, but the tea’s sour notes were more troubling than comforting to her stomach, at the moment.

“From what I understand, at least,” she began carefully, “he doesn’t seem as interested in listening to reason as he is in exacting his revenge. Felix says that he fights like a beast.”

“Is Lord Arundel not a sensible target for such revenge?”

Dorothea frowned a bit. “What I mean to say is… He sounds unstable. He’s about the opposite of what we need right now, which is some degree of control over the situation.”

“Then you would wait,” said Mercedes. “For how long?”

“I don’t know,” replied Dorothea, barely refraining from adding a flippant, “do you?”

“Well,” she said, “I can offer to speak to him on your behalf—although I wish I could do more. I worry what my brother has become, as the heir to House Hrym. And I worry that others are not immune to his fate. Dimitri might think me selfish for being so fixated on his condition…” Then she laughed to herself. “What am I saying? That would make him a perfect hypocrite.”

It took a moment for Dorothea to follow Mercedes’ train of thought.

Then it struck her. “Of course! If you frame your appeal around your desire to save Jeritza…”

“Who was, in fact, a gentle boy twisted into a violent youth by the machinations of the Empire…”

“Then there’s a chance that he might recognize himself in your brother and agree to lend his aid. It’s slim, but it’s more than what we had before.”

Mercedes smiled at her. She looked as though she were on the verge of tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of the rest from here. You will be notified when His Highness is ready to speak with you.”

“How?” Dorothea tried to ask, but instead found herself with a honeyed scone crammed in her mouth, and decided to leave the matter at that. 

* * *

If she had to parry any more blows, Dorothea thought, her arm was going to fall off.

“Good, good! A little more, and you will be impressing even Felix with your swordfighting skills!” Petra lunged with her training sword, and Dorothea blocked it with her own just as she felt her arm start to go numb. The blow reverberated through the rest of her body, and she struggled to stay upright.

“Again!”

Dorothea dragged herself back up to a defensive stance, and groaned.

The day Edelgard was due to return, Dorothea still hadn’t heard anything from Mercedes. That being said, the other members of the Blue Lions were beginning to look a little more askance at her. She hated feeling as though she had done something wrong…

“Dorothea!”

She ducked her head, dodging an overhead swipe, but her half-hearted lunge was easily parried.

…But she knew that she hadn’t, even if Ingrid’s and Sylvain’s wary stares in her direction were making her feel oddly guilty.

She jumped back from another stab, gasping for breath. “Can we take a break? Please? For water, at least?”

“You are being thirsty?” Petra relaxed her stance, and nodded. “Please be hydrating.” Honestly, what was with this girl’s vocabulary?

Dorothea walked to the northwest corner of the training grounds to take a sip from her flask. As she did, she noticed Dimitri stride onto the grounds, Dedue following closely behind him.

She swallowed and stared at him. He did not look the least bit happy to see her. “Um…” She tried for a smile. Petra was already moving to stand between them, sword in hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Highness?”

“Put down your sword, Imperial dog,” Dimitri barked. Petra refused, and he ignored her. “Dorothea,” he said, turning to her. “What is the meaning of this?” He shoved a paper into her hands.

She unfolded it and scanned the contents. Then she looked up. “This is from Mercedes,” she said. “She wanted to discuss what happened to her brother.”

He clenched his jaw. “I know!” His voice was shrill. Dorothea flinched away. “I spoke to her, and she directed me to you.”

Dorothea sighed, smiling wryly. Of course she did.

“Whatever for?” she asked, steeling herself for more of the prince’s… incessant screaming.

“She said that Edelgard was to offer the Kingdom an alliance. That Claude was already aware of the situation—” how Mercedes came to be in possession of that particular piece of information, she did not know and wasn’t about to ask— “and compliant, and that the Kingdom would be at a strategic disadvantage if we did not side with Hresvelg-allied Imperial territory. With the eastern Empire.”

She blinked. ”O…K. And what seems to be the matter, fair prince?”

She was beginning to enjoy his various looks of unbridled rage. “Do you know Monica von Ochs?” Dimitri asked—albeit it sounded more like a demand, and she was compelled to say that she did even though she didn’t.

“I heard she was a former student, though that’s about it.”

“She stabbed Sir Jeralt last month after the mission in the chapel ruins, after she had supposedly recovered from her kidnapping by the Death Knight. I had stayed behind to assist in clearing the rubble caused by the monsters’ attacks, when she suddenly appeared. Sir Jeralt requested that I not tell anyone about her appearance—but Monica von Ochs was a former student from the Empire.” He loomed closer, though Petra still stood between them. “He saved my life, and remains in serious condition. Do you think for one moment that I would believe a word out of that woman’s mouth?”

“I hadn’t heard anything,” Dorothea murmured.

“Why you continue to associate with that woman is beyond my comprehension.” Dimitri took a step back. “Tell Edelgard that I refuse—”

“Halt!”

Relief flooded Dorothea’s chest before she even recognized the voice as Edelgard’s. She turned in the direction of the voice, and saw Edelgard and Hubert, alongside Sir Jeralt, who looked to be in fair health.

“Please, Dimitri,” said Edelgard. He glared at her. Edelgard glanced at Dorothea before turning back to him. “I brought Sir Jeralt here. He can explain everything to you.”

“Princess Edelgard here was on a brief recess after the mission at my request,” said Jeralt. “Sorry to keep everyone in the dark—we couldn’t let Rhea know, either. Lord Arundel has a long history of kidnapping and brainwashing men and women from a young age into doing his bidding. You saw what happened with Jeritza, and now Miss von Ochs. The students we saw at the chapel ruins were purely victims—unlikely to be in league with those two. Monica is running around calling herself Kronya now. I’m not even going to start trying to figure that one out…

“Anyway,” he continued, “that sword of hers, Athame, is extremely lethal. It’s made from Demonic Beast hide—what we call Agarthium. So is the Death Knight’s Scythe of Sariel. The only thing that can match those are the House Relics—made from Umbral steel. The difference is that Lord Arundel has been harvesting and stockpiling Agarthium for years, and Umbral steel can only be excavating certain sites around the continent. The Church has a store of Umbral steel specifically for this purpose, but it’s very limited. We were hoping to never use the Relics again… but it seems as though that’s inevitable now.”

“Uh,” said Dorothea, “why aren’t we telling Archbishop Rhea?”

“She has the power to declare war on the Empire. But that’s a bad idea before we’ve figured out their next move. We’ve tracked Monica’s location to Magdred Way in the Empire—though they’ve likely set up an ambush there. We need troops on the ground… but we’ll also need soldiers stationed here to defend Garreg Mach.”

“So,” said Dorothea, “we’re pretty much on the verge of war here already.” Her heart sank. “Aren’t we?”

“Gaspard territory in the Kingdom has been confiscated by the Church since that whole incident with Lonato,” said Jeralt. “Magdred Way is a good place to set up to begin an assault. It’s also bordering Arundel territory—no guesses as to why they’re all there. To the southwest of Arundel is House Ochs, and to the south…”

“Hevring,” said Edelgard. “Where Linhardt lives, in other words. To the east is… or rather, was… Remire. Anyone could see where this is going.”

“The whole area is crawling with Demonic Beasts. It’s like an infectious disease over there. The Knights have had issues securing Gaspard territory because of it. We were about to ask for help from the Kingdom.” He looked at Dimitri. Then he looked back at Dorothea. “The Alliance is already sending in troops to the monastery, and tightening their defenses around Myrddin Bridge—just in case. We could tap House Charon through Catherine… although I get the feeling she’s not going to love it—but it’d be nice to have the rest of the eastern Kingdom on board. The western Kingdom is poorly defended… no offense, Prince Dimitri… so if Gaspard falls, then everything south of the Tailtean Plains will follow.”

Dimitri’s brow darkened. “If the war starts anywhere, it’ll start in the Kingdom.” Then he glared at Edelgard. “What exactly are you planning, dear sister?”

“The Empire is enormously unstable,” she replied. “I have to manage House Hresvelg, as well as determine the alliances of the other eastern territories. It could devolve into a civil war if we don’t act quickly. That being said, we’ve made… arrangements with House Varley south of here. They’ve agreed to lend their assistance to the monastery.”

Jeralt stared at her, incredulous. “Then Count Varley…”

A ghost of a smile slipped past Hubert’s face. “We did what had to be done,” he said. “The county is under the protection of House Hresvelg forthwith.” He looked at Dorothea. “I suggest refraining from sharing this news from Bernadetta for the time being. I doubt she’ll miss her father, all things considered, but, well…” He nodded. “It’s best that she learn the details of his passing after the chaos in the Empire has subsided. She is safest here in the monastery.”

Dorothea looked away. “I know he was abusive to her, but… That doesn’t make it any easier to hear.”

Dimitri folded his arms and looked at Jeralt. “Then you wish to make use of the Kingdom’s Relics to defend House Gaspard?”

“Your choice, kid.”

Dorothea swore she saw a vein pop in Dimitri’s forehead.

“Your Highness,” said Dedue. “I suggest that you discuss this with the others before making any decisions. Lord Rodrigue especially will want to hear of this.”

“We don’t have time,” said Dimitri, looking darkly away. “Send a message to the Lord Regent that we are requesting troops to Castle Gaspard at once. I’ll talk to Felix and the others.”

Edelgard’s eyes widened. “Then…”

“We’ll work with the Kingdom to secure Gaspard,” said Jeralt. “The Alliance will be defending the monastery from enemy Imperial troops. Do you have those banners ready, or…”

“Yes,” said Edelgard. “Once they’re ready, House Varley will be flying the Crest of Flames. I will remain at the monastery to meet them.” She looked at Dimitri. “We have no Relic bearers in our class, save myself with Aymr. You’ll have to request assistance from Goneril or Riegan.”

“Our own Relics will be sufficient,” said Dimitri. “We’ll deploy as soon as we are ready.” He swept out of the room, Dedue shadowing him as he left. Petra followed shortly behind them, her job as Dorothea’s defender apparently finished.

Dorothea exhaled. “Not the nicest fellow, is he?”

Edelgard looked at Jeralt, who was clutching his chest. “Are you well, Sir Jeralt?”

He grunted. “That von Ochs girl did a number on me, for sure. I don’t know what the hell’s in those weapons, but we’re not going to keep Rhea in the dark for too much longer if it stays like this. Someone’s going to have to explain the whole situation to her… and I have the feeling it’s going to be me.”

“Do you know what she’s hiding from my uncle?” Edelgard said, suddenly.

“About the Immaculate One?” Jeralt cracked his neck. “No clue.” But something about the way he said it didn’t convince Dorothea.

Edelgard seemed to have the same idea. “I see,” she said, in far too diplomatic a tone. “That is unfortunate to hear. I’ll let you know if I learn anything else.”

He blinked at her. “You want the Sword of the Creator?”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it. “Why do you ask?”

“Rhea’s been trying to find someone who can manifest the Crest of Flames for years. She’d lose her mind if she heard you had one.”

“Didn’t know she had much of one left to lose,” Dorothea commented. Hubert snorted.

“She’s seen better days,” Jeralt agreed, much to her surprise. “But then again, we all have.” He looked at Edelgard. “That sword _does_ things to people. Something about the way it was created. If you touch it and the Crest’s a fake, you’ll be worse off than even Miklan was.”

Dorothea winced.

“Last person she tried it on…” He shook his head. “Anyway, let’s get back inside. I’m freezing out here.” 

* * *

Not even a day later, Dorothea found herself following Edelgard and Jeralt to the entrance of the mausoleum in the cathedral. It was left curiously unguarded at this time of night—courtesy of Hubert.

Jeralt glanced at Edelgard. “Want to know a secret?”

She blinked. “I… had thought I did, but suddenly I’m not so sure.” She leaned in. “What is it?”

He grabbed her wrist and pressed it against an unassuming stone pillar against the wall next to the door. It glowed white with the Crest of Seiros. “This place was never locked to you. You could have entered at any time.”

The doors slid open, shuddering slightly as they did. Beyond the doors were a flight of stairs descending into the darkness.

“Um…” said Dorothea, standing behind them. “I feel like I ask this a lot, but why was I invited here?”

Jeralt looked back at her. “Someone else needs to know about this. And I figured that since Edelgard tells you everything already,” Edelgard’s blush was visible even in the dark, “it might as well be you.”

“Oh,” said Dorothea, and followed them inside.

The mausoleum was lit by torches that glowed with an eerie green light—magic, she realized. It was stuffy, which made her realize that they were in fact heading underground. Against the walls of the mausoleum were tall stone pillars, standing on either side of several large objects that looked like coffins.

Well, it was a mausoleum, after all…

She trailed closely behind Edelgard, resisting the urge to reach out and tug at her uniform cape. In the flickering light, Edelgard looked just as uncertain as Dorothea herself felt.

“There’s so much I don’t know about this place,” Edelgard murmured. “It’s beginning to make me wonder if I deserve to be Emperor, after all.”

“Nonsense,” said Jeralt, as they reached their destination—a coffin at the very end of the mausoleum, lit by a shining white light from above. The light seemed to come out of nowhere, considering it was nighttime outside, and the moon wasn’t even out. “There have been plenty before you who didn’t deserve the title, either, and I can already tell that you’re better than most of ‘em.”

She glanced at the coffin. “So… What’s this?”

“The sword,” Jeralt said simply. “Before we crack this thing open, I have a story to tell you.”

“Oh, boy,” said Dorothea. “Should we sit down for this?”

“Floor’s a little dusty,” he said, extending a hand, “but feel free.” He turned to Edelgard. “Anyway. About two decades ago, Rhea and I were friends with a woman of the Church—a nun by the name of Magdalene. She was… extremely devout. Rhea had just been promoted to Archbishop, and I had established a name for myself in the Knights a few years before.”

“As the legendary Blade Breaker of the Knights,” said Edelgard. “Yes.”

He folded his arms. “She and Rhea became very close.” His eyes narrowed. “So did we. Around the time we married, Magdalene, she offered her firstborn child to Rhea without… without telling me. Rhea was convinced that this woman was so holy that her child would take the Stone—would take the Stone that housed Crest of Flames—without rejecting it.” Then he was quiet.

“So,” said Dorothea. “What happened?”

“My daughter… Well, it was pretty obvious there was something wrong with her. She never smiled—she didn’t have a heartbeat—she kept telling me about all these weird dreams she’d been having since she was little. I’d had enough of it. So I went back to Rhea and asked, ‘What the hell did you do to her?’ Magdalene died in childbirth, and…” he faltered, “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened, so I had to ask, and she told me some bullshit about how Byleth was destined for greater things. I tried to keep Byleth away from her, traveling around the continent taking jobs as a mercenary, but eventually the Church found us again. When it was revealed that Byleth had successfully been able to manifest the Crest of Flames, Rhea took her down here to show her the Sword of the Creator.”

Jeralt pushed the cover of the coffin aside. Dorothea felt sick.

Inside, there was the body of a pale, green-haired woman, clutching a sword that had to be a Relic.

“The Sword of the Creator,” Edelgard gasped, and then, “this woman…”

“My daughter,” said Jeralt. He stared at her.

On second glance, something looked horribly off about her. The hilt of the sword had a place for a round object to be set right below the guard and above the grip, and the empty space was glowing green with a symbol that looked like a Crest. The woman…

“Is she… dead?” Edelgard looked up at him.

She was dressed in gold jewelry and white burial clothes—Dorothea recognized them as the traditional Adrestian _stola_ and tunic, fastened at the sleeves, with a purple _palla_ draped on top. Her hair wasn’t pinned, let loose to fall across her shoulders, but there was a gold circlet placed on top of her head, worked into the shape of a laurel wreath. She looked like a member of royalty.

“I don’t know how much of it is true,” Jeralt said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but Seiros was said to be the last Nabatean—you know, those people who are supposed to be able to turn into dragons? And Sothis was the one who granted them that power. The Nabateans are long dead—killed by Relics forged from the bones of their kin. They intermarried and had children with the native people of Fódlan, but only the pureblooded ones were ever able to shapeshift. Demonic Beasts are the result of Crests being used on the bodies of ordinary people who aren’t prepared for their effects. Seiros started the Church and all that in the hopes of protecting the secret to creating Demonic Beasts, but considering they’ve been ravaging the continent since time immemorial, she was never going to succeed.”

He sighed. “Legend has it that Sothis never really died, despite the Sword of the Creator being made from her flesh and blood. It’s been the Church’s goal to literally create a new Goddess—to bring Sothis back—since it was founded. They’ve tried all sorts of crazy things, and then the Church branched off and gave rise to more extremist groups like the one your uncle leads in Arundel.” He looked away from the corpse, up at the ceiling. “Once Rhea realized what was happening, she froze Byleth like this somehow. Something about activating the innate power of the Crest Stone using the Sword as a catalyst… I have no clue.”

“So then, do you know what the Immaculate One is?” Edelgard pressed. “Is it Seiros?”

“Church scripture is old,” said Jeralt. “Older than me, for sure. But they have all sorts of secret rituals that I don’t know anything about, and Rhea seems to think that the Immaculate One isn’t just a myth. We’ve seen Demonic Beasts in action, so it’s not exactly a stretch to believe that some mythical race of beings could do it on demand at some point. But until I see one with my own eyes, I won’t be buying it.”

Dorothea groaned. “Why is it so important for people to be able to turn into dragons? Why can’t Lord Arundel and Archbishop Rhea leave everyone else alone?”

“It’s my uncle’s intention to bring about a new era of humanity,” Edelgard explained. “He… is a megalomaniac, in so many words. He believes he can advance the human race through the power of Crestology.”

“He’s turning people into monsters,” said Dorothea.

“I didn’t say he was correct,” Edelgard retorted.

Jeralt slid the cover back on. “Anyway. That’s enough of that. I’d suggest you leave the Sword alone until you can figure out how to save Byleth—or else you’ll end up in her place.”

“Then Byleth also possesses the Crest of Flames?” Edelgard asked.

He shrugged. “Rhea thought so. She did something to her; that’s for sure.”

Edelgard brushed her fingertips along the edge of the coffin’s cover. “She looks… strangely familiar. I sense a feeling of kinship with her. Like I knew her from somewhere, a long time ago.”

“The Crest of Flames is a Crest for fate and eternity,” said Jeralt. He looked at her. “Don’t remember where I heard that. In scripture, it’s said that Sothis… Ah, well.”

Edelgard tsked. “Excuse me? Finish what you were saying.”

Jeralt grumbled under his breath. “It’s said that Sothis left behind a legacy—not of Crests or Relics, or even of Sothis’s offspring, the Nabateans. Sothis was known to the native people of Fódlan as the Fell Star. In other words, before recorded history, she fell from the stars down to the earth. And I know what the word ‘fell’ means. That’s not what I’m talking about here.” He placed his hand on the coffin. “Her arrival brought destruction and chaos. There was a massive fire that didn’t go out for weeks. She granted the power to shapeshift to certain people—specifically, the ones living around Zanado—so they could survive the disaster. But it was only supposed to be temporary.” He blinked at Edelgard, and then at Dorothea. “You guys don’t read scripture, do you?”

“Guilty as charged,” Dorothea said with a grin.

“This is a different story than what we’re taught in the Empire,” said Edelgard. “But do go on.”

“Ah, well…” He looked down. “Sothis tried to bring order to the land, but her arrival obviously led to conflict. You don’t cause a massive natural disaster without stirring up all kinds of trouble. She instructed the Nabateans to share her knowledge with them. That’s how our civilization came to be… or so they say. Her last living descendant, a woman by the name of Seiros, established the Church in her memory. Not only in the hopes that Sothis would one day return, but to share the sacred knowledge imparted unto her—everyone seems to forget that last part.”

“And?” Edelgard asked. “What was it?”

“‘Don’t be an asshole,’” Jeralt replied. “Which Rhea already seems to have failed at.”

Dorothea burst into surprised laughter. Edelgard looked vaguely insulted.

“The whole point of the founding of the Church was that Seiros was sick and tired of all the fighting and wanted everyone to get along already.” Jeralt began walking back to the entrance, and Edelgard and Dorothea followed behind him. “Human nature ensured that that would never happen, but the Crest of Flames was unique, you know… It can’t be inherited, since Sothis wasn’t human. Rhea told me that the Crest isn’t even a Crest in the traditional sense.”

Edelgard and Dorothea looked at each other. The stairs were in sight.

“It’s a Crest born not of blood, but rather of feeling.” Jeralt began to ascend the stairs. “Whose, I don’t know. But all it takes to create one is a desire so powerful that it burns away everything else… whatever that means. So.” He looked back at them. “You two have been quiet.”

Edelgard was silent on the way up, and on the walk all the way back to the dormitories. She kissed Dorothea indulgently outside of Dorothea’s room on the first floor, and whispered something against her lips that sounded a lot like a “thank you,” before retiring to her own room.

Or, at least, she would have, had Dorothea not grasped her wrists as she tried to let go.

Edelgard panicked, yanking her arms away. “Dorothea, please—”

“You’re going to leave again. Aren’t you?” Dorothea looked her in the eyes, and Edelgard looked away. “I can feel it.”

“I know her.” Edelgard’s voice trembled. “I’ve seen her before. I don’t know how—I think it has something to do with the Crests—but the moment I saw her face… I remembered.”

Dorothea watched her, and then after a moment tugged on Edelgard’s wrists. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make you something hot to drink.” 

* * *

Once they were inside, Dorothea lit the lamp on her desk and put on some tea. While they waited for the water to boil, Dorothea bade her to sit on the bed, and drew up her nightstand beside her. Edelgard must have smelled the tea leaves that she pulled out of her desk drawer, because she recognized them immediately.

“Bergamot?” she asked, amazed.

“It’s expensive,” said Dorothea, cautiously making her way back to the tea kettle. “I bought it… um… for you. For a special occasion.”

“I see,” said Edelgard. She sounded embarrassed.

Dorothea placed a handful of leaves at the bottom of her one and only teapot, and poured the hot water inside. Edelgard began to relax beside her.

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing,” Edelgard admitted, “except that I knew her. Intimately. But it couldn’t have been me… Reincarnation, perhaps? I don’t know,” she sighed. “None of this makes any sense.”

“Intimately?” Dorothea blinked.

Edelgard poured herself a cup and blew the steam over the rim, pursing her lips. “It’s the sort of feeling reserved for family members, maybe even lovers. She looked so familiar that it hurt to look at her. But that’s it. I feel like I’ve forgotten something priceless.”

She had no idea how to interpret that.

Edelgard took a sip. “I’ve had strange dreams… strange memories… ever since the Crest was implanted within me. There’s truth to what Sir Jeralt is saying. I feel as though I’m seeing through another person’s eyes. I don’t know if what I’m witnessing is from the past or from the future. Honestly, I find myself questioning whether anything is real anymore.”

“Oh.” Dorothea squeezed her free hand. “Edie…”

Edelgard squeezed back, and leaned against her shoulder with a sigh. “And somehow, I feel as though all of this has happened before. Isn’t that strange?”

“It is,” said Dorothea.

“I don’t think she’s dead,” she continued. “She seems to be… asleep. Although, the Sword certainly appears to be active.”

“She has a death grip on that thing, though,” Dorothea remarked. “I’m glad we didn’t try to steal it before. That would have been an unpleasant surprise, to see that there was still a body attached to it.”

“It’s hers,” Edelgard murmured. “Whatever Jeralt was saying about feeling and desire is bullshit.”

Dorothea winced at her abrupt use of the word.

Edelgard set her cup down on the nightstand, and curled up closer against her. “I can’t stay for long,” she whispered.

“That’s all right.” Dorothea kissed her on the forehead. “Any time we can spend together is well worth it.”

Edelgard grasped her face. “Are you sure?”

“Well…” she said, “why not?”

She glanced to the side. “In the Empire, we were always taught that Sothis was mortal. That she could be killed. That the Sword of the Creator was made from her corpse.” She let go of Dorothea’s face. “In essence, that we had already killed our own god, long before the Church had ever existed. I had always assumed that this conflict was purely between mortals—that there were no divine beings involved. What Sothis is, I know not. But I know that I remember that woman… I remember Byleth.” She wrapped her arms around Dorothea’s neck, and pressed their foreheads together. “It makes me worry what else about the world has been hidden away from our sight.”

Dorothea moved back onto the bed, and then slipped arms under Edelgard’s legs and pulled them onto the bed with her so that they were on either side of her lap. She didn’t resist. “What does it matter to you?”

The thick, heady scent of bergamot oil was making her sluggish. Edelgard kissed her once, and pulled back. “I don’t know.” Her fingers traced Dorothea’s throat. “That’s the frightening part.”

“Edie…”

“El,” Edelgard murmured, edging teeth along the side of her neck. Dorothea’s head lolled. “Call me ‘El.’”

Dorothea let herself be pushed down onto the bed, let herself call Edelgard by this curious new name, and let her trace the lines of her body, worshiping her in the dark. Edelgard resisted any attempt to engage in actual intercourse, claiming it wasn’t the right time, claiming she wasn’t ready, and leaving Dorothea to whimper and tremble at her every touch, forcing her to summon every last bit of self-control to avoid doing anything Edelgard didn’t want.

Edelgard left before daybreak, and Dorothea finished herself off practically as soon as the door closed, overcome with thoughts about what was, what could have been—and what could be.

“El…” She would remember that. “_El_!”


	5. Meteor

A week later, it was announced that all Academy classes were canceled until further notice. Dozens of students were sent home, and the monastery grounds were thinning by the day, the students either being replaced by Church soldiers—or becoming them.

Dorothea was in the infirmary, packed and prepared to leave alongside the other students returning home, but the reality of it hadn’t quite hit her yet.

“I’m going to miss this place.”

“The sick and injured were evacuated a week ago, to their respective home countries,” said Manuela, looking around the empty room. “It’s not much of a place without people in it.”

Dorothea sat on an empty cot, and spread her hands against the bedsheets. “Do you remember… the students who became Demonic Beasts? They spent their last moments here.”

“That’s the reality of it, unfortunately.” Manuela cracked open the window and peeked through it. “I hear Caspar had to be practically dragged home—and Linhardt’s gone with him. It’s a good thing they’re so close. Bernadetta’s gone to Aegir, since the County of Varley is such a wreck.”

“Ferdinand’s a good man,” said Dorothea. “Even if his father is… the Prime Minister, Ferdinand will protect her with his life. And Petra left for Brigid a while ago to sort out matters there. Which leaves Hanneman, and then… us.” She looked at her.

“Hanneman left this morning. He asked me if I wanted to go with him, but I said I was still waiting for you.”

“Sorry.”

“How’s Edelgard?” Manuela turned to her. “She’d been showing up to my office for sleeping aids until just this past week. I assume she’s up to more Imperial business?”

“I don’t know,” Dorothea admitted. “Jeralt brought us down to the mausoleum to show us the Sword of the Creator… and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Well, she is the one responsible for causing all this ruckus. Not that I blame her.” Manuela turned, and when Dorothea looked in that direction, she saw an empty glass flask lying on the table in the middle of the room. “I was hired by the Academy to look after the students, not the Knights. I don’t know what’s going to happen to this place after I leave, but Rhea’s informed me that my services are no longer needed. I know they have their own healers—but it still worries me. Too many secrets.” She tsked. “This is no ordinary war.”

“Edelgard told me to return to the opera company. I assume that means she has something planned.”

Manuela scoffed. “Doesn’t she always? Your little girlfriend and her servant Mr. Tall, Dark and Murderous are the most suspicious people here. At least Jeritza didn’t try to act like he belonged.”

“Believe me, I know,” Dorothea laughed humorlessly.

“I realize they wouldn’t be stirring up a fuss for no good reason…” Manuela drifted away from the window and to the cot on which Dorothea was seated, “but the uncertainty of it all is making me a bit apprehensive.” She sat down beside her and sighed. “The fact that Edelgard has her eye on the opera company doesn’t make me feel any easier. She probably wants to use it to spread propaganda about her would-be revolution.”

“That sounds like them,” said Dorothea, as if Edelgard and Hubert were one and the same, “yes.”

“Oh, well.” Manuela turned to face her with a small, tired smile. “It’ll be like old times, I suppose. Just you and I, on the road together.”

“Manuela…”

“I wanted a better life for you than this.” She rested her elbows on her knees, and tucked her chin into her hands. “I was so surprised to see you at the Academy, you know. You never liked to hurt people, and your white magic always was a little shaky.”

“Both still very much true, although Linhardt, bless his soul, has been trying to help me with the latter. He’s not exactly a spiritual person, so I’m surprised he’s any good at it…”

“That’s because it has to do with faith in yourself, dear. Not faith in a higher power. Linhardt might seem lazy and self-interested—and, well, to be honest, he is—but he’s very empathetic and a gentle soul. That being said, being the heir to a noble house of Adrestia doesn’t exactly lend itself to the development of such… frivolous traits as kindness and concern for others, so there’s a chance he might be rather repressed. I don’t think the Empire has ever really been the same since House Arundel rose to prominence. But even that can be traced back to things like the construction of Fodlan’s Locket and the annexation of Duscur by Faerghus. It’s a real circus, is what it is.”

Manuela stood up, and kneeled down next to the chest containing the handful of belongings she’d brought to the Academy. They’d always traveled light. “It’s a good thing I care less for things than I do for people. Goodness knows what would happen if I ever lost you.”

All of a sudden, an arrow flew through the narrow opening in the window and fixed itself in the opposite wall. Manuela jumped back and stared.

“What in the Goddess’s name was that?”

Staring warily back at the open window, Dorothea stood and approached the arrow lodged into the wall. There was a note tied to it—naturally. She untied the note and unfurled it.

_Please see me._ She recognized the handwriting instantly._ Will make travel arrts for you and M. Bring her to the Cardinals Room. R. and J. will be present._

Dorothea stared at her. “Edelgard says to meet her in the Cardinals’ Room. With Jeralt. And Rhea.”

Manuela groaned. “You can’t be serious. What else does she expect us to do?”

“We waited too long,” said Dorothea, and was met with an instant, “And whose fault is that?”

* * *

Manuela stood jealously to the side, against one corner of the long hall that was the Cardinals’ Room. Edelgard and Hubert were already seated, as was Jeralt. At the head of the table was the Archbishop herself—bedecked in her usual headdress and white robes, practically unchanged from when Dorothea had first laid eyes on her. She recognized a few of the Knights, as well—Catherine and Shamir, Alois, Claude, and a fourth figure who looked like a much older Felix and who Dorothea assumed was his father, or his uncle, or something.

Dorothea seated herself at the other end, awkwardly.

“Please,” said Rhea. “There is no need to sit so far away. We have no intention of harming you.”

Dorothea looked desperately at Edelgard, who nodded her assent. She stood up and took a seat next to Claude, who smiled broadly at her.

“Glad you could make it.” His casual tone did little to ease her fears.

“I understand you are one of the most talented mages at the Academy,” Rhea began. She already felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “You have been working closely with Professor Hanneman, I believe?”

She bit her lip, staring down into the wood grain of the table.

So that was what this was about.

“I was told that it wasn’t ready yet,” she replied bitterly.

“I was not requesting use of the spell right away. However, I have been told that you were opposed to its employment on the battlefield.”

“I knew it wasn’t just about the theory,” said Dorothea. “Hanneman was concerned about its potential effects, as well. But of course he’d agree to give me lessons on it—he could never resist the idea of forbidden knowledge.”

“Can someone tell me what on earth is going on here?” asked Manuela. “I hadn’t heard of any special lessons.”

“Meteor,” said Rhea. “It’s an extremely ancient, powerful, and dangerous spell. There have only been a few wielders of it in recorded history. You are the first of this generation. In fact, I believe Professor Hanneman was stripped of his title for attempting to recreate it, though he might claim otherwise.”

Edelgard looked surprised. So that little detail had evaded even her, had it?

“Lysithea’s learned everything from Abraxas to Hades Omega, and even she couldn’t figure it out,” added Claude.

“Pardon my interruption,” said Hubert, “but the type of spell to which an individual may have access is determined purely by inheritance. In other words, one must be born with the ability to wield it. That someone has been able to understand and apply the theory behind Meteor is a rare occurrence indeed.”

“The Sword must be kept out of enemy hands at all costs,” said Rhea. “Destroyed, if necessary. I understand your opposition to the spell’s practical application,” she looked at Dorothea, “but I would rather sacrifice the lives of a few for the sake of the many than risk it falling into the hands of Lord Arundel. You understand that your hesitation endangers us all. Yes?”

“Where’s Professor Hanneman?” Dorothea demanded. “Why isn’t he here?”

“He is safe in the Imperial capital. He was not informed that you would be meeting with us today. It is my understanding that he has a loose tongue, and so sharing this information with him was deemed inadvisable.”

“He does like to listen to himself talk,” said Manuela. “I don’t see this turning out so well if the spell fails, granted. And this is even ignoring the fact that you seem to be willing to reduce the entire monastery to a pile of burning rubble. Isn’t a meteor literally a flaming rock falling from the sky? What if it lands in the wrong place?”

“You’re supposed to include that information in the incantation of the spell—using the principles of triangulation,” said Dorothea. “Whether that method is perfect is another matter.”

“Wow,” said Claude. “And here I was thinking all you did was mutter a few complicated words and poof!” He waved his hands. “Magic.”

Hubert looked as though he were about to say something very rude, but refrained from opening his mouth.

“The spell may not be necessary,” said Rhea, “since Edelgard has been so gracious as to inform us of roughly when she expects the western Imperial army to arrive. As per our previous agreement,” she nodded to Edelgard, “the Sword will be moved to a secret place far away from the reaches of the western Empire.”

In the Alliance, Dorothea guessed, considering both that it was the furthest region away geographically, and that Claude must have been present in the room to discuss something important.

“But we must remain in contact with you in the event that it can no longer be protected,” Rhea continued. “We must also grant you special protections, so you are able to cast the spell when we may require it of you.”

“All these secrets,” Manuela grumbled.

Rhea gracefully ignored her. “Catherine will accompany you and Manuela to the Imperial capital. Alois will accompany the Faerghan army to Magdred,” she nodded to the man who was ostensibly Felix’s relative, “while Jeralt and I will remain here to defend the monastery. Shamir, you will act as the liaison between all three groups. Claude, you will assemble your forces and rendezvous with the remaining Knights in Gloucester, northeast of the Academy.”

Claude nodded. “Yep. I hear you loud and clear.”

Dorothea gaped. “Catherine? Really?” So she was going to be surrounded by two loud, unkempt, continually inebriated and occasionally violent women for a weeklong trip down to the Empire, and the Archbishop of all people had authorized it?

“She is a holy knight of the Church and more than able to protect you from any potential threats within the Empire.”

“You have a problem with me,” Catherine practically shouted across the table, “we can talk it out later.”

Shamir beside her looked annoyed for some reason. It made sense for Catherine to be assigned to them, considering that she was one of Rhea’s most trusted knights and that they were all women. But still, if Manuela had a reputation for being able to outdrink a fish as well as the sailor who caught it, then Catherine had a reputation for challenging people to arm-wrestling contests and even bar fights if they so much as misspoke the name of her dear “Lady” Rhea. It didn’t sound like a good combination in theory, and Shamir appeared to share this sentiment by the way she was staring incredulously at Dorothea from across the table.

She said nothing, however, and Dorothea had the feeling that she didn’t have any further say in the matter, either.

Rhea concluded the meeting with a few more florid statements, and afterward everyone began to file out of the room. Edelgard brushed past her as they exited into the hallway, and Dorothea felt something like a note pressed into her hand.

_Your room, _it said, and nothing else.

* * *

Edelgard pulled out a small package wrapped in parchment from underneath her cloak. She was dressed in a plain brown cloak and burgundy doublet, and white leggings tucked into leather boots. Her hair was tied into a loose bun and looked disheveled, as though she’d been covering it prior to her arrival at the monastery.

“Incognito, huh?”

“I’m not the Emperor quite yet.” She pressed the package into Dorothea’s hands and removed her cloak, hanging it off the chair by Dorothea’s desk. “From the capital.”

“What is it?” she asked. “Can I open it?”

“A question, first.” Dorothea recognized that particular tone. Edelgard furrowed her brow. “I thought you were a thunder mage.”

“I am,” said Dorothea, innocently. She put down the package on her desk.

“Then, I thought the next class of thunder magic after Thoron was Bolting.”

“It is. But inherited magic doesn’t necessarily work that way.”

“I wasn’t aware of any of this—not that I expected to be,” she added quickly, “but…” She looked down. “Meteor. It makes sense, in a way. Was it intentional, then?” Edelgard looked back up. She seemed more curious than anything. “Learning spells like Thoron and Physic… Was that so you could learn how to calculate distance?”

“There are spells that travel further,” replied Dorothea. “But, in a manner of speaking, I suppose they helped. I didn’t know that I knew it until I saw the spell.”

“When did you realize you could cast it?”

She sat down on the bed. “Oh… During the entrance examinations to enroll as a student of magic, there was a bonus question. I guessed correctly—I was the only person to do so. And then Hanneman pulled me aside after the test and told me I’d been the only person that year—or actually, in several decades—to answer the question correctly. Even though my sponsorship with, um, Viscount Nuvelle was found to be illegitimate, he told me that I had passed the exam and that he’d overlook any administrative blunders if I agreed to help him study the equation described in the question. So I did. And, well…” She gestured around the room. “Here we are.”

“I see. And what was the nature of this question?”

“Oh, something about the velocity required for a particular mass to escape the planet’s orbit and its—”

“OK,” said Edelgard, “so clearly beyond me.”

“But it wasn’t just that.” Dorothea folded her legs on the bed, and tapped her chin. “There was something more… hmm… instinctual. As is the case with all forms of magic. I knew the answer… because I could see it happening in my mind’s eye. Something falling toward the earth in a great, fiery mass. And I felt it somewhere, in the depths of my chest. Like the feeling you get just before a thunderstorm. Like a memory of a dream.”

Edelgard sat next to her, coyly. “That sounds familiar.”

“In more ways than one.” Dorothea looked at her. “Is that how you felt, when you looked at her?”

Her brow creased. “She looks so familiar. It feels like looking at a sibling, or my birth mother. But I knew her even more intimately—I spent more time with her than I did with any of them. We must have been…”

“Lovers?”

Her expression sank like a stone. “Open the package,” she said, and it sounded less like a suggestion than an order.

For better or worse, Dorothea didn’t mind being ordered around, so she stood up and retrieved the package and returned back to the bed, undoing the twine that held the parchment together. Edelgard sat in place and watched her, holding her breath in anticipation.

“It’s—” not a proposal— “oh, Edie…” Dorothea was reminded of a particularly ill-timed gesture of gratitude from Ingrid, so many months ago. It seemed as though it could be ancient history by now. “I couldn’t…”

A single, red ruby, inlaid in bands of silver and gold. It was beautiful—much too beautiful to wear—flashy even for someone like Dorothea, who normally loved to wear trinkets. It brought to mind flashbacks not only of Ingrid (who was the last person to mean the gift in a romantic way, no matter how often Dorothea teased her about meaning otherwise), but of suitors at the Academy and beforehand, beneath the burning lights of the opera house, buried under heavy makeup and sweating from exertion, persona painstakingly carved into anyone other than herself.

“You don’t have to wear it. But I…” Edelgard looked down. “I don’t know how often we’ll be able to see each other again after this. Everything is moving so quickly, and I just—”

Dorothea grabbed her face and kissed her. “I’ll keep it,” she said. “That’s a promise.”

She looked to be on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry.” She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, clumsily. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

“It’s OK,” she whispered, kissing away her tears. “It’s OK. I’m here.”

“Dorothea…” she gasped, sobbing into Dorothea’s blouse. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Dorothea wrapped her arms around Edelgard in a tight embrace and held her until the sobs subsided, rubbing her back in small, comforting circles.

Edelgard pulled away and kissed her, and Dorothea laid hands on her waist.

“Do you…” She gave her a meaningful look.

Edelgard, whose face had been red from crying, was suddenly red from quite a different emotion. “We don’t have the time.” She sniffled and, panicked, looked around for something to wipe her face.

“I can make it quick.” Dorothea handed her a handkerchief, and grinned as she watched her. “You can keep that, by the way.”

“I don’t want it to be quick,” Edelgard insisted, but between cleaning her face and looking Dorothea up and down, she seemed conflicted. “You said you wanted it to be…”

“Special?” Dorothea smiled. “I wasn’t talking about the timing, Edie—I was talking about you.”

Edelgard pocketed the handkerchief and put her hands in her lap, smiling one of those sad, complicated smiles that had crossed her face so often as of late. “Really… I haven’t even… I’m not fit for doing—”

Dorothea laughed at that. “Darling, if you knew what kinds of terrible encounters I’ve had to endure in my quest to find the perfect mate, none of that would matter one bit to you right now.”

Edelgard stared at her, aghast.

Then she grinned, straddled her lap and rolled her hips into Dorothea’s, sending a hot jolt of pleasure straight down to her core. She kissed her deeply, languidly, letting her tongue brush against Dorothea’s own, letting the heat build up between them in slow, measured waves.

It was too much, after a moment; Dorothea pushed her away with a strangled gasp.

Edelgard looked worried. “Did I go too far?”

Dorothea’s face felt very hot. “You know that I had to touch myself after the last time we did this? It was unbearable.”

Edelgard was beginning to resemble a ripe tomato, herself. “You _what_?”

There was a curt knock on Dorothea’s door. She knew who it was without even having to check.

“My apologies for interrupting your leisure time, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said through the door. “Your escort has arrived.”

Edelgard sighed and moved off of Dorothea’s lap, their shared warmth leaving her body all at once. “Acknowledged, Hubert,” she answered back, and twisted her fingers in the hem of Dorothea’s blouse. “This is it,” she said, quietly. “I don’t have any plans as to when I might see you next. Soon,” she added, hopefully. “Stay with the opera company. Stay in touch with the others. We’ll meet again; I’m sure of it.” She took Dorothea’s hand and covered it with both of her own, and kissed her knuckles. “I want to see the millennium festival with you,” she laughed, her eyes brimming with tears again. “I’ll make Hubert eat those little bean-filled cakes he hates so much.” She leaned in and kissed her again, quickly, and stood up off the bed and grabbed her cloak. “Goodbye, Dorothea,” she said, her hand resting against the door. She looked strikingly handsome. “No… That’s not right.” She smiled through her tears. “See you soon.”

Dorothea was crying freely.

“See you soon, El.”

Edelgard left, and, as she’d predicted, it would be a long time before they could see each other again.


	6. Interlude - The Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: discussion of genocide; minor self-injury for ritualistic purposes; (very) minor character death
> 
> ...and lastly, the tyranny that is fake dating

Even to herself, her voice sounded painfully meek.

“I don’t think we have to go all this way just for…”

Hilda’s reply was forceful and insistent. “Nonsense! Even if there’s a war raging on the other three corners of the continent, we should still be allowed to dress up while we’re here.”

Marianne’s vanity had been covered by a dusty cloth just a few weeks ago, mothballed and neglected like most of the other things in her room. Her adoptive father was distant, and her extended family not much of an improvement. Hilda was the first real friend she had ever had, as far as she could remember. She was pushy, but at the same time affectionate. It was a strange combination, and Marianne still had no idea what Hilda saw in her.

“All right, now look up.”

She did as told, albeit reluctantly.

“Oh.” She didn’t recognize herself at all. The shadows under her eyes were gone, covered by makeup, and Hilda had pinned her hair back to keep it out of her face. There was a prettier girl in the mirror looking back at her, but wearing her expression—timid, hesitant.

In the mirror next to her, Hilda grinned. “So? What do you think? Aren’t you just lovely?” There was an overtone of something hard to place in Hilda’s voice, aggressive and somehow proud. Not in a self-satisfied way, but for Marianne’s sake. She was happy because she had made Marianne prettier with makeup. She supposed that made sense.

“Um…” Marianne had never found it easy to accept compliments, but she knew that Hilda would just argue if she did anything other than agree with her. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Now if we could just get you to smile, you’d be absolutely ravishing!” Hilda beamed, practically vibrating with excitement above her. “The boys won’t be able to keep their eyes off of you.”

Marianne had been seated at her vanity for the past half hour, and Hilda had hunched over her and dabbed at her face with all sorts of powders and things, and now her skin felt caked in them, but at least Hilda’s chest was finally out of her face.

“I’m glad you’re having fun and all, but um… I don’t think that’s the reason you’re here.”

“You mean Claude?” Hilda groaned. “I know, I know; I’m standing in for my brother because they’re too busy with the fortress, but as long as we’re waiting, we might as well do something, right?”

“Right.” Marianne stole another glance at herself in the mirror. She would definitely draw more attention. She didn’t really want any more, but she could tolerate it as long as it made Hilda happy.

Like this, their conversations were mostly one-sided on Hilda’s part. Marianne was interested in engaging a little more with her, but Hilda could be so self-absorbed sometimes, and it was difficult for Marianne to get a word in while she was talking.

“What’s this all about, again?” Hilda asked.

“They’re bringing the Sword of the Creator here. Disguised as a funeral procession. They’re going to bury the Sword in the woods… to hide it from the Empire.” Marianne bunched up her skirt in her hands.

“That’s so weird,” Hilda murmured. She set her hands on Marianne’s shoulders. “Well, anyway, we’re done here. I guess all that’s left to do is wait…? I hear Lorenz is too busy with war stuff, and Lysithea got sucked into whatever Edelgard is up to… Leonie followed Jeralt—or tried to, at least; I’m still not sure how well that worked out for her. Raphael went back to his sister, and Ignatz went back to his family. Claude said he was worried about what would happen if you were left to your own devices, knowing what Margrave von Edmund is like…”

“Oh,” said Marianne.

“Really,” said Hilda, “I just miss being at the Academy. Everyone’s so split up now… Sylvain and Annette… I don’t even know what anyone in the Empire is doing anymore. I hear Ferdinand is having a really rough time.”

“Oh,” said Marianne again. “He was kind to me… That’s worrisome to hear. Excuse me.” She stood up, and Hilda stepped out of her way.

“Your room is so gloomy,” Hilda drawled. “Hey, you think we have time to clean it before—well, not Claude—but whoever Claude is sending gets here?”

“Rhea entrusted the Sword to a member of the Knights… Shamir. Um. I’m not sure if we’ll be seeing her. I think everything was arranged by Claude beforehand.” Marianne clutched at her skirt. “I’m not sure why I was asked to be present. It doesn’t seem like they trust me.”

Hilda grunted under her breath. “Obviously they need you for something, or else they wouldn’t have asked.”

“The Crest,” Marianne whispered.

“Huh?”

“N-never mind. Shall we go? The margrave will meet us downstairs.” Marianne didn’t turn to look at her as she walked out of her room and descended the stairs.

“H-hey, wait!” She could hear Hilda chasing after her. “Marianne!”

* * *

Marianne didn’t recognize most of the faces that came into town for the faux funeral. There were certainly a lot of them, and all strangers, even if some of them were actual residents of the margravate. Hilda, in her magenta dress and shocking pink jacket, was the only one she knew, aside from her adoptive father, who stood on the other end of the street to receive the procession.

It was deathly quiet. The people who didn’t look confused had almost comically serious looks on their faces. They looked like actors.

“Hey,” Hilda whispered in her ear. “I think I recognize that guy from the Church! Whoa, this is so bizarre…”

Marianne felt a chill run through her—the northeastern breezes coming in over the border, the signs of early spring. She stood closer to Hilda, on instinct. The early morning fog still hadn’t subsided; it was hard to see beyond a few meters.

“I guess these are Knights of Seiros or something, huh? Creepy…”

Marianne swallowed. Suddenly, even before she saw them, she knew to where the funeral procession was going. She felt sick.

“Maurice,” she whispered, clutching Hilda’s sleeve.

Hilda looked back at her. “Huh?”

“The Crest,” she said. Her heart hammered in her chest. “M… my Crest. The Beast.” She looked up at Hilda with wide eyes, tugging at her sleeve. “Hilda. We have to go.”

“What?” said Hilda. “But they’re not even here yet.”

“They wanted me at the site… But where everyone is lined up… This is going in the opposite direction of the woods. It doesn’t make sense. Unless…”

Hilda’s voice rose in volume. “Marianne, what are you talking about? Are you saying this is—mmph!”

A gloved hand reached out and covered Hilda’s mouth, muffling her voice.

“Sorry I’m late.” Shamir glanced down at her. “Follow me.”

Hilda wrenched Shamir’s hand away from her face. “All right, fine, sheesh! No need to be so rough with me…”

“You’re fine,” Shamir replied, as she let them out of town and into the dense coniferous forests that covered most of Edmund territory apart from the coast.

The fog grew thick as the trees crowded together. They followed Shamir off the main road, and into the woods. It was dark, even though it was morning.

Hilda looked at Marianne. “Hey, mind telling me what’s going on here?”

Marianne was silent. She couldn’t find it in herself to respond.

Shamir answered in her place. She glided through the brush, silent as a ghost. “What you saw back in town was a fake. There’s nothing in there. It was a replica, created for this very purpose.”

“Talk about paranoid,” Hilda sneered, but she still looked nervous. “I, uh… I’ve never been in these parts. It’s really quiet. Is there a reason…”

“Shh!” All at once, a dagger flew out of Shamir’s hand and struck a man behind them. He cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground. Before Marianne could even react, Shamir had him pinned to the ground and then killed him, muffling his screams.

“Holy shit!” Hilda swore. “We were being followed?”

“He was alone,” said Shamir. There was a little blood on her clothes, dark red and slick. She looked unfazed. “The only one to guess right, luckily. We’ll have to retrieve the body later… if it isn’t eaten by the Beasts first.”

“Fuck,” said Hilda. “There are Demonic Beasts in these woods? No wonder I’ve never been here!”

Marianne felt like a corpse. Her Crest burned inside her, crying for help, screaming her name.

It was near.

“Can we trust him?” Shamir asked. “Maurice?”

“I don’t know,” Marianne replied bitterly. “I was just asked to come along.”

“The other Knights are still watching the procession. We won’t have backup if we’re attacked.” Shamir began walking in the direction of their established meeting place.

“I thought that was the point,” said Marianne, following behind her. “That you didn’t want anyone else to know. Or is it?”

“After we retrieve the corpse, you’ll need to show us the way.” Shamir looked back at her. “Sorry to have to use you like this. It wasn’t my idea.”

“I know.”

The air was suffocatingly thick with tension. Hilda walked in front of Marianne, unconsciously or not, separating her from Shamir. When they finally arrived at the clearing where the coffin was, she saw only four other Knights to carry it, and no one else.

One of them handed Hilda the Goneril Relic, Freikugel. “Just in case,” he whispered.

“This is not making me feel any better,” Hilda said, shooting a desperate look at Marianne.

Marianne felt hollow with despair. “Can you wield it?”

“Well, yeah…” Hilda furrowed her brow. “Hey, Marianne, this is about your Crest, right? Or your curse or whatever?”

She sucked in a breath. The Crest was overwhelming her now, consuming her with thoughts of hatred and rage, and desperate, desperate loneliness. She heard skitters in the brush beside them, of massive creatures twice the size of any horse. Maurice was even larger.

Hilda strapped the axe to her back. “I’ll use it if we really need to, but it doesn’t look like we’re prepared for a fight.” She looked around at their small party. “Marianne, be honest with me—what the hell are we doing here?”

“Asking for help.” She nodded to Shamir. “Let us proceed.”

The four Knights hefted the coffin over their shoulders and followed Marianne deep into the woods. There was a small, unmarked tomb where she stopped, covered in undergrowth. Marianne brushed some of the dirt out of the way, and read what was carved into the stone:_ Here lies Maurice the Beast, cursed for all eternity. May his soul find salvation in the Goddess._

Marianne swallowed hard. “Dig.”

Shamir resisted. “We don’t have shovels—”

She got to her knees, and started digging with her hands. It was buried in a case here, the Relic, and Maurice, a lizard-faced giant in the woods, massive, but somehow hidden from sight, asleep under the earth—desperate to be freed from the burden of his miserable existence—just like Marianne—

“What are you doing just gawking at her? Get over here and help!” Hilda knelt down beside her and started digging, beating the dirt with Freikugel to loosen it.

One by one, the other Knights followed. Shamir refrained—she kept a lookout in the dense, foggy woods around them.

Sweat dripped from her brow, and her limbs screamed from exhaustion, but after an hour or two, their job was done.

There was a long, silver case buried deep within the earth. Hilda nearly squealed with excitement once she saw it.

“Oh, thank Sothis!” she said, wiping the dirt out of her face. “I was beginning to think we’d all gone mad.”

The Knights helped her pulled it out of the earth and onto the surface. It was unlocked, and opened at Marianne’s touch. In the case was Blutgang—the Relic of House Maurice.

Marianne drew out the sword from its sheath, and weighed it in her hands. It felt as though it had been made for her. She ran her hand against the sharp edge of the blade, caressing it, and then held it over the steps leading inside.

She took a deep breath.

Then, she pressed her thumb into the tip, drawing blood, and let it dribble off her hand onto the stone. Hilda screamed.

The earth rumbled underneath them. Marianne stood still, the pressure finally abating in her chest. She could see herself rising from the earth, drowsy with a decades-long slumber—the Wandering Beast, the Terror of Edmund, the Guardian of the Forest, the Dark God of Leicester…

Maurice rose from the earth, overturning trees, churning the soil, covered in dirt and roots and mist, and his horned-lizard face stared down at them from the sky with their empty eye sockets. The men fell to the ground beside her, yelping in terror.

“It’s the Beast!”

“Don’t run, you cowards,” Shamir hissed.

“My descendant,” Maurice rasped. He stood over twelve stories high, towering over the trees. He made no move to attack them, instead staying still. Their Crests resonated; she remembered him and his memories: the war, the goddess, Zanado. “What is it from me that you seek?”

Marianne motioned half-heartedly to the coffin behind her, barely moving her head. “Can you hide it? Um. Until I ask for it back.”

“Blood for blood.” Her blood sizzled into the stone beneath her feet. “I will acknowledge your request. But when you come back once more to retrieve it, I ask for your life in return.”

“Granted.”

“Marianne!” cried Hilda, aghast.

The ground trembled again as three massive wolves, each thrice the size of an average man, bounded into the clearing around them. They surrounded the coffin, and while the men drew their swords, Marianne held out her hand.

“They won’t hurt you. Please… allow them to proceed.”

They snarled as they worked, weaving strong branches and vines around the coffin into a net, until they were finally able to drag it away with their teeth.

“He will not find it,” said Maurice. “Nor will you.”

“Understood.”

The image of Maurice seemed to flicker, then, disappearing into the mist. The ground trembled for several more seconds as Maurice lumbered away.

Then, it was silent. There was the cry of a raven, the rustling of trees. Marianne barely registered the pain in her hand.

“What the fuck.” Hilda, still sweating from exhaustion and covered in dirt, held up Marianne’s bloody hand by the wrist and squinted. “Well, the funeral procession’s probably over by now, considering how long we had to spend digging that sword up… Let’s take care of this when we get back.” She tossed a look back at Shamir. “Let me guess… I’m not supposed to talk about what happened?”

“Trust your instincts,” she replied.

“Yeah, sounds like something you’d say.” Hilda looked at Marianne, worried. She still had the sword clutched in her hand. “So, um, Marianne. Are you…”

She put the sword on the ground and curled up against her, pressing herself into Hilda’s chest.

“W… Whoa…” Hilda put her hands out, circling arms around Marianne cautiously. “Um… Not that I mind or anything, but…” She pulled her into a tentative hug, and Marianne pressed further into her. “Oh, well, whatever. You deserve a break after today.” Hilda rubbed her back gently. She started to cry. “But once we get back to the house, we’re gonna talk about the promise you just made, OK?”

* * *

Marianne wanted to bury the sword, but Hilda and Shamir convinced her to keep it. They buried the case back in its place, but she took the sword and the sheath back with her to the Edmund estate. Shamir left them in town before they arrived at the gates to Marianne’s house, to draw away any would-be assassins similar to the one that had followed them into the woods.

She rested the sword in its sheath against her vanity. It looked off there, so she moved it to her wardrobe instead. It still looked strange.

“I put on some tea downstairs,” said Hilda, already holding up a bandage for Marianne’s hand. She had washed her face and arms, though her dress was still dirty. “That did not at all go how I was expecting it to go. Um…” She stared at Marianne’s clothes. It wasn’t a flattering look, this time. “I’ll patch that up, but why don’t you get changed and we’ll meet in the drawing room, OK?”

Marianne nodded mutely as Hilda cleaned and bandaged her thumb, and thought that her outer appearance finally matched her inner state.

She put on a modest house dress and cardigan after washing the sweat and dirt off, and let her hair down to dry. Hilda had the same idea—she arrived in the drawing room looking as though she had bathed. The tea was ready with a few modest cakes and a bowl of sugar cubes. It smelled like lavender—one of her favorites, and one of the handful of varieties on which she and Hilda could agree.

Hilda poured herself a cup, blew on it, and then stared at her from across the table. “You can’t just sacrifice yourself like that.”

“I had no choice.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Marianne flinched, jarring the tea cup and saucer in her hands. Hot tea splattered her bandaged hand, but she barely felt it.

“I’m sorry…”

“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be more concerned for your own life.” Hilda’s brow had deep creases. It was painful to see. “It’s a big deal—I get it—but you can’t offer yourself up to some gross, lizard-faced monster just because the Church told you to.”

She put down her tea and looked away. “I thought… I thought I could make myself useful.”

“Marianne.” Hilda’s tone was exasperated. “I mean, the guy even gave you a cool sword.”

“Blutgang,” Marianne replied.

“And it even has a badass name! What the hell? You should be, I don’t know… You should be doing something cool with that.”

She shrugged.

Hilda picked up one of the tea cakes and popped it into her mouth, washing it down with the cooling tea. “I’ll tell Claude.”

Marianne blushed. “You can’t—”

“Oh, you bet I will. And he’ll scheme something so over-the-top and ridiculous it’ll be beyond any of our hopelessly shallow imaginations. Except Edelgard’s, maybe. But… Don’t throw away your life, Marianne,” Hilda looked at her gravely, “please.” She leaned over the table, across the steaming cups of tea, and took Marianne’s bandaged hand in her own.

Her heart thudded her in her chest. She couldn’t look Hilda in the eyes, but she couldn’t look away from her, either. The silence was deafening.

Finally, Hilda squeezed her hand and let go. Marianne felt herself relax.

“Are you gonna tell the Church if I let Claude know about this?”

“No,” said Marianne, honestly.

“We’re not going to let you die, Marianne,” said Hilda. She looked so determined. “Not me, not Claude, not any of us. All right?”

She nodded. “OK.” She knew she was just saying that, and Hilda knew that she knew.

“Will you write me?” she asked.

Marianne looked up at her. “You mean… write letters?”

“Yeah!” said Hilda. “I would write Holst all the time back at the Academy. Your handwriting is kinda small and hard to read—but I’d like to keep in touch. Can you do that for me? It doesn’t have to be all the time or anything. Just so… You know…” She trailed off and looked away, awkward.

“Hilda…” She knew what she wanted to say, but not how to say it. She wanted to hug her again. It felt embarrassing. “Um. Maybe I could visit you.”

Hilda practically jumped out of her seat. “What? Really? Of course you can! I’ll take you to see Holst and my parents, and um, well, there’s not much else out there… but I’ll figure out something to do. It’ll be fun.” Hilda smiled. Marianne felt like standing up and running away.

“O-OK,” said Marianne. “I’ll… write you, and we can plan it. Although, with the war…”

“Oh,” Hilda flapped her hand at her. “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe. Just bring that epically named sword with you and you’ll scare off any bandits before they can even think of attacking.”

“OK…”

“And we can cook and I can teach you to make some things… You’ve been less clumsy lately; I guess all that training has been good for something…”

Marianne let her ramble on, and sipped her tea and prayed to the Goddess—not for an end, this time, but maybe, hopefully… for a beginning.

* * *

Marianne kept her promise. She sent a letter to the Goneril estate every month on the 1st—brief, unadorned, and covering less than half the page in her small, messy handwriting, but nonetheless real and tangible, something Hilda could hold in her hands and read. She received letters from Hilda just as regularly, two or more pages in her large, looping script. Sometimes she scribbled little drawings in the margins to illustrate her brother’s massive girth or a ceremonial Almyran sword (“Why does it curve like that?” Hilda wrote, with an arrow pointing to the sword’s exaggerated, bow-like blade.), and, when it suited her, hearts or flowers or birds or anything else she thought Marianne might like, in an attempt to imprint herself onto Marianne’s mind, make a place for herself in her heart.

Six months passed, and in the summer she was finally obliged to visit Hilda’s home near Fódlan’s Locket. She brought Blutgang to show off to Holst, who expressed jealousy that someone as frail and timid as Marianne could own such an impressive-looking weapon, and outright shock that she could comfortably wield it. Holst, irritated, grumbled something about “women” and “Crests,” which earned him a swat upside the head from Hilda, who herself was the heir to their own family Relic, Freikugel.

They spent the rest of the week sketching wildlife and attempting to make jewelry, Hilda being much more successful than her guest at the latter, and Marianne soaked in the atmosphere of a loving and happy family life. Hilda took her measurements (after much protest and resistance on the part of Marianne) and promised to sew her the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. Holst was so taken with her that by the time Marianne had to leave for home, he told her that he’d already started thinking of her as a younger sister (“in-law,” he added with a snort, “if my sister can’t keep her hands off of you.” He’d offered additional warnings to her then, something about how aggressive Hilda could be toward people she liked and how she shouldn’t be intimidated by her behavior, but Marianne failed to comprehend a word of it for how red her face had become and how embarrassed she’d suddenly felt, even at something that was meant to be a friendly joke). Hilda herself pulled Marianne into a ferociously tight hug and made her promise to visit again at some point, and then whispered in her ear to keep an eye out for any messages from Claude. She’d agreed to everything before being unceremoniously shoved into a carriage to be taken back home to Edmund, where time seemed to expand in the misty, dreary woods.

As autumn fell over the Edmund estate, Marianne found herself looking forward to Hilda’s monthly letters as her sole respite from the wartime reports coming in from the western Alliance. Their opponents were not knights and foot soldiers, but rather Demonic Beasts and the mages who controlled them. Garreg Mach had fallen at the outset of the war, its students scattered across the continent, and the Archbishop nowhere to be found. Skirmishes along the eastern Alliance border had quieted, as Claude had assumed leadership of the Alliance, and House Riegan was beginning talks to form a peace treaty with the Almyrans. House Gloucester had sent troops to defend House Ordelia from a sudden attack by House Hrym, and was eventually joined by reinforcements from the eastern Empire. 

It was another nine months, after the fighting at the southern border had ended and the region had begun to stabilize, that Hilda asked her if she could meet her in Derdriu, for a class reunion of sorts. She realized on sight that Hilda was referring to Claude and his plans to retrieve the Sword without sacrificing her. She felt ashamed for having hope that they could save her—but once again, her desire to see Hilda and the rest of her friends won out against her desire to fade away into oblivion.

As the early spring rains began their assault on the Edmund woods, Marianne planned for her journey to Derdriu. She packed Blutgang in its sheath, and practiced riding her mare, Beate, concerned about any danger she might encounter along the way, traveling alone as she was. She knew how to blind and burn her foes using light magic, but she felt uncomfortable using her holy powers for any purpose other than healing. Blutgang, on the other hand, was something twisted and ugly. She asked the Edmund knights to teach her how to fight on horseback, until she was what she believed to be reasonably sufficient in the art of swordplay. The margrave pleaded with her to at least consider taking along one or two knights, and so she finally relented—Dame Klara, a stately paladin who had been in the margrave’s service for decades, and Sir Ragnar, a fortress knight typically assigned on the town outskirts to defend it from Demonic Beasts, were to be her escorts.

Garland Moon, they finally set on the winding road from the Edmund estate leading to Derdriu. They took the road along the coast, watching frothy gray waves crash along the shoreline. The trip was blessedly brief—in only two days, they had reached the capital—and naturally, waiting for her at the city gates was Hilda, along with an apparently begrudging Lysithea.

“Marianne!” Hilda squealed as Marianne dismounted from her horse. Hilda pulled her into a hug, and she could see the surprise on Lysithea’s face as she willingly returned it.

Hilda hadn’t changed very much since the last time they had seen each other, but Marianne hadn’t seen Lysithea since leaving the Academy. She looked older, at sixteen, the baby fat having left her face in favor of sharper lines and longer features. Her usual expression hadn’t changed at all—she still looked annoyed and impatient, not least because she was accompanying Hilda, who at this very moment was still showering Marianne with compliments and gossip and praise.

“I heard Lorenz was in the city looking for you,” she said, in a conspiratorial whisper. “And I swear, if that overblown windbag is still interested in you, he’ll have to answer to me first!”

“He’s changed,” Lysithea insisted. “House Ordelia wouldn’t have survived without him.”

“Then you can have him,” Hilda scoffed, in response to which Lysithea blushed and muttered quietly to herself.

Derdriu was as vibrant as ever—the streets bustled with people and horses and carts full of merchandise, their contents increasingly foreign as a result of the relaxing border restrictions between the Alliance and Almyra. She could even spot one or two foreigners in the crowd, dark-skinned and unusually dressed, hawking exotic wares made of jewels and precious metals, and peddling strange fruits and vegetables for which Marianne hadn’t any names. Marianne led Beate through the crowd, Klara and Ragnar following close behind, as Hilda brought them closer to the heart of the city.

“Claude said he got food for us and everything—you know House Riegan has a huge mansion in the middle of the city?” Hilda smiled up at her. “I mean, I’m not saying it’s going to be a party or anything… We still have the war to discuss… but we’re going to see Ignatz and Raphael and Leonie, and representatives from the Kingdom and the Empire too! Ooh, who do you think they’re going to be? Ferdinand, maybe? Or Caspar? From the Kingdom… Ashe or Sylvain? I bet Sylvain would jump at the chance to escape all the fighting…”

As Hilda rambled on, Lysithea looked back at Marianne. “So,” Lysithea began. “You’ve been quiet. Not that you’re ever particularly talkative, but…” She glanced up. “You cut your bangs.”

She reached up reflexively to touch her bangs. “Yes…”

Then she glanced down to the sword belted at her waist. “And you have a Relic.” She blinked. “Well. That’s certainly unexpected.”

“I’m glad you’re safe,” said Marianne, quietly. “I was worried.”

“Lorenz and I will give a full report on the state of the southern territories once we arrive,” said Lysithea, looking ahead to the street. “With House Hrym defeated, I would argue that Edelgard is easily in control of the eastern Empire. They were the last pocket of resistance, but now that they’ve been seized by House Hresvelg…” She was quiet. “It should be calmer there, now.”

“Did something happen?” Hilda asked, butting in.

“You’ll hear the details once we’re inside.” Lysithea looked at Hilda, and then Marianne. “You seem to be on… good terms,” she said.

They looked at each other.

“Sorry to tell you,” said Hilda, her gaze never leaving Marianne, “but we have our reasons for coming too. My brother’s forces have been freed up from fighting at the border, but we have a huge request to make of Claude before we can agree to any of his terms.”

“Is that so?” Lysithea’s tone was decidedly neutral. “Well, it has been over a year. I suppose we all have new stories and troubles to share.”

“He didn’t invite anyone from the Church,” Marianne murmured.

“Because I told him already,” said Hilda. Then she looked straight ahead. “Hey! Look at that!”

Rising high above the roofs of the city and extending into the water was a massive wooden house on stilts, two stories high and thrice as wide, dwarfing every other building around it. It stretched into the ocean like a separate dock, and was lined with grand windows facing in every direction. It was a handsome place to live, Marianne thought, even if it didn’t seem very private.

Claude was waving to them, alone in the crowd. Flanked by her two knights, and following behind Lysithea and Hilda, Marianne drew herself and her horse to a halt.

Claude looked as roguish as ever. “Hilda!” He opened his arms wide. “Lysithea, Marianne! Come on in.” He opened the front door to the house. “Everyone’s already inside—well, almost everyone, we’re missing a few stragglers—and preparations are being made for dinner. We can catch up and then talk about the reason we’re all here.” He looked at Marianne. “Who’s going to take care of your…” He glanced up at the knights as they began to lead Beate away. “All right then!”

The three of them followed Claude inside. The drawing room was compact and circular—wooden seating was built into the walls, and covered in patterned cushions—but the windows offered a generous view of the harbor outside. Ignatz, Lorenz and Raphael were waiting inside, along with a less familiar face.

“Dorothea?” asked Hilda.

“Everyone is here except Leonie,” Lysithea said quietly. She turned to Claude. “Who else are we waiting on?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Claude. “But, while we’re waiting for our last two guests, why don’t you three ladies catch up?”

Lysithea instantly made eye contact with Lorenz, whose gaze drifted from Dorothea, with whom he’d previously been conversing, to Lysithea, and then to Marianne. He had grown out his hair in the past year years or so, and pulled it back. It was a much more flattering look on him than the bowl cut he had had before. Ignatz had his cut; Raphael’s was resistant to any hairstyle changes, it seemed. Dorothea’s hair hadn’t changed, but she carried herself more elegantly, wore different makeup, and dressed in glamorous clothes more fitting for an opera singer than a student. She looked out of place among all the chatter between old friends, and when they made eye contact, a long, uncomfortable silence passed between them.

Then Dorothea smiled, a wry look crossing her face. “You’re looking well, Marianne.” Impressively, she made no move to glance down at the sword belted at her waist.

She opened her mouth. Why Dorothea? She was an opera singer, far removed from the front lines of the war. Then she closed it. That made more sense, actually, than if Edelgard had chosen someone living where the fighting was fiercest. “Dorothea,” she said, offering a modest smile of her own. “I could say the same for you.” They had all changed, somehow, but Dorothea and Lorenz and Lysithea, who had witnessed the brunt of the fighting, had changed the most.

Dorothea hesitated, the wry look twisting into something more complicated, and then said, without looking at the sword, “Edie and I… We heard about the location of the Sword.” She smiled sadly at her. “Don’t worry,” she said, though the words only served to make Marianne feel more nervous, “you’ll be safe.”

“Well, isn’t this a lively crowd!” Leonie arrived ten or twenty minutes later with a grin, and was greeted by a huge holler from Raphael and excitable chatter from the rest of her old classmates.

Claude frowned and looked behind at the door. “I suppose we can start dinner…” Then he grinned. “I hope we have enough food left over.”

* * *

They moved into the dining room, which like the entrance, was rounded, albeit much longer, with a massive wooden table in the middle and cushions lining either side. The food was already laid out—steaming bowls of rice and skewers of meat, whole steamed fish, stews in clay pots simmering in heavy tomato sauce, thick rounds of flatbread, and chopped greens and salad.

“Pick anywhere you want,” said Claude. “Just leave a little room at the end for our mystery guest.”

The table easily seated more than ten people, though Claude nevertheless sat at the head of the table while Lorenz sat next to him, and Leonie and Ignatz sat on either side. Marianne ended up next to Hilda but across from Dorothea, who sat at the other end, while Hilda sat across from Lysithea. There was a distinctly empty space beside Dorothea. She looked uncomfortable, and Marianne felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

Before eating, Marianne unbelted her sword to lay it across her lap under the table, unwilling to give it up, but not so much that she would sacrifice comfort. 

“We’ll talk after we finish eating,” said Claude. He glanced over at the empty seat, and then at Dorothea and grinned. “Sorry about the wait, Dorothea. She’s coming, I promise.”

She?

Marianne picked at her food initially, but worked up an appetite after watching everyone else eat for a few minutes. She was hungrier than she realized after the ride, and though much of the food was unfamiliar, the exotic spices and rich flavors pleased her palate. Dorothea looked less surprised by the spread—to be expected from someone so well-traveled—and ate as though she were familiar with most of the foods on the table, or maybe she was just trying to be polite.

The last invited guest entered the room over half an hour later, after almost everyone had finished eating. Dorothea looked up from her seat—and froze.

“My humble apologies for my extreme tardiness, Lord Claude.” The woman bowed deeply over the table. “His Majesty had me run an errand in the…” She closed her eyes and raised her head, as if sniffing the air, and then glanced at something on the far end of the table. “Is that Daphnel Stew?”

“I-Ingrid?” Dorothea’s mouth was half-open in shock.

“Dorothea.” Ingrid fixed her with a stern look, and then turned to Claude. “Claude… Why did you not tell us that the other would be here?”

He smiled and shrugged. “It’s not as though you two are enemies, right?”

“No,” said Ingrid. She turned to look at Dorothea. “But it has been over a year…”

The entire room had fallen silent at this point.

Ingrid flushed and shut her eyes, obediently taking a seat beside Dorothea. Beside her, Dorothea beamed.

“I hope you don’t mind the hasty reunion,” said Dorothea, already filling Ingrid’s glass. “This is pomegranate juice, by the way, not wine. Claude said to save the celebration until after the meeting.”

Ingrid’s expression was complicated as she accepted the glass—somewhere between fondness and wariness, as though she were trying to keep a safe distance from a cherished friend. She ate as she ever ate, quickly and in large bites, with seemingly no pauses to breathe. Dorothea watched her with a sly grin.

Hilda elbowed Marianne. “So hey, what was that all about?”

“I couldn’t say,” Marianne replied.

“I bet the reason Claude didn’t tell them that the other one was coming was because he didn’t tell Edelgard or Dimitri that he invited another person from the Kingdom or the Empire. That’d also explain why they sent the two people with the most awkward relationship out of all the possible attendees…”

Hilda said that, but the tension between them seemed to have already subsided. Ingrid no longer seemed to mind how close Dorothea was sitting to her, and appeared to be absorbed in whatever Dorothea was telling her. The chatter resumed shortly after Ingrid’s brief interruption, and Hilda huffed beside her.

“Well, that was anticlimactic.”

“I’m sure they were just relieved to see the other safe,” said Marianne. “Especially considering how dangerous it’s become to travel in the Kingdom. It’s safest and fastest to travel alone on pegasus, rather than with a retinue.”

“It’s unusual for the Empire to send a commoner to represent them, but then again this is Edelgard we’re talking about. Dorothea also knows how to keep her mouth shut, unlike most of the others in that class.” Hilda giggled. “That could have been bad!”

“We can hear you,” said Ingrid. Seated so closely together at the table, with the setting sun illuminating their features, she and Dorothea looked beatific, like holy women in a painting.

“Yeah, yeah.” Hilda rolled her eyes. Then she made eye contact with her. “So how’s the war going?” She made a startled face, abashed. “I mean… Um…”

“I know what you mean,” said Ingrid, and smiled warmly. Then she steeled her expression. “It’s not been going well. One of the reasons King Dimitri sent me here was to petition troops for the war effort from the Alliance.”

Hilda shifted her attention to Dorothea. “And the Empire? You’re the ones sending troops, not asking for them.”

Dorothea simpered and looked away. “I can’t share very much, unfortunately.”

“_Bo_-ring,” Hilda drawled. “I guess you’re going to hide in a little room with Claude to share all the details from the Empire after everyone else has said their part?”

“Something like that,” Dorothea replied. Then she made eye contact with Ingrid. “Though it was… quite cruel of Claude not to tell us that a representative from the Kingdom would be present. I understand there’s still tension between the two countries, but he really could have chosen a more diplomatic way to go about this.”

“King Dimitri may not have agreed to send anyone, had he known,” said Ingrid. “He’s vehemently opposed to receiving any sort of aid from the Empire, even though he and Edelgard share the same enemy.”

“Good old Dima,” Dorothea sighed. “May he never change.”

“Hey!” Claude shouted from across the table. “You finished over there? We’re going to clear the table. I’ve got a map of Fódlan we can use to plan out our strategy.”

Dorothea and Ingrid looked at each other.

* * *

Claude summarized most of what Marianne already knew, up to this point: the Kingdom was clearly struggling, the Alliance was apparently stable, and everything east of Hevring in the Empire was now firmly under House Hresvelg’s control. Claude, Lorenz, Lysithea, Dorothea and Ingrid now all sat at the upper end of the table, while everyone else sat at the lower end.

Lysithea was the first to speak. She moved a marker on the map to Ordelia in the Alliance. “Nine months ago, forces from House Hrym crossed the border and attacked House Ordelia.” She glanced at Dorothea. “They were undeclared at the start of the war, but attacked us without warning with dark magic and Demonic Beasts.” She slid a marker from the middle of Gloucester southeast to Ordelia. “Troops mobilized immediately from House Gloucester, our traditional ally, to support House Ordelia. The fighting continued for another four months before troops from Bergliez in the Empire—” she shot a glance at Dorothea— “marched into House Hrym to assist with the fighting. It should have ended there, as Bergliez forces are the most powerful and mobile in the Empire. But that’s not what happened. Rather than weakening, a few weeks into the battle, House Hrym strengthened their attacks, doubling or tripling the number of Demonic Beasts in battle, even as the number of mages among them continued to dwindle. By the end, it seemed as though they were letting them loose on purpose—or worse, that they had completely lost control.”

Lorenz looked at her, his face shadowed by a dark fringe of hair. “May I?” He stepped forward, his hands behind his back.

Lysithea nodded and stepped away from the table.

His mouth was set in a tense line. “It was only with the help of Count Bergliez that Lysithea and I were able to drive off the remainder of the Demonic Beasts. House Hresvelg asserted control over the territory, and Lysithea and I were allowed to investigate the Hrym estate following the end of the final battle. The mages kept… detailed records.” His throat bobbed. “Many of the bodies that littered the fields, as we suspected, were of people who were different in some way—chronically ill, or physically or mentally disabled, and deemed ‘unfit’ for society as a result… but many of them appeared to be in good health prior to experimentation. They included Almyrans, Dagdans, Brigidians…” he placed a single gold earring on the table, on top of the area labeled “Hrym,” “and Duscurs.”

Ingrid paled visibly. Behind her, Dorothea covered her mouth in horror.

“My mother was Dagdan,” Lysithea mentioned, briefly and bitterly. “Perhaps that was why…”

“Though many… of the victims,” Lorenz cleared his throat, “appeared to be pale-skinned, most of them were quite dark, with similar features. It would have been easy, after the Tragedy of Duscur, to steal the survivors away from their homes, and take them across the border…”

Ingrid looked down. Her brow had deep furrows, and the whites of her eyes were stark against bright green irises.

“This is the future Lord Arundel wishes to impose upon us all, it seems—where the strong subjugate the weak, and those who do not fit his vision of the perfect human being are cast away.”

The room was deathly silent. Marianne felt ill.

After what felt like several minutes, Dorothea finally spoke up. “Claude,” she said, wasting no time in addressing the leader of the group, “you said you had a plan?”

“I…” He grinned nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorta. It’s about the Sword.” He looked at Marianne from across the table. “Marianne. You have the Relic from… you know… Maurice?”

Marianne rose from her seat. She unsheathed Blutgang and placed it on the table, away from the map. It was a single-edged sword with a slight S-shaped curve, like a human spine, ridged as though it were made of bone. Like every Relic, it was made of bone. The Crest of Maurice glowed ominously in its hilt, above the grip and behind the guard. Even now, the blade called to her, demanding to be wielded, and with it, for blood to be spilled.

“That’s a Relic?” asked Ingrid, having regained some of her composure. “I don’t remember seeing that in the history books.”

“That’s the Relic of House Maurice,” said Claude. “Though, uh… There’s a reason they left that part out.”

“There were two,” said Marianne. “Blutgang and Aymr. Aymr was stolen centuries ago… I believe the Empire possesses it now, actually.”

“It’s been modified,” replied Dorothea. “For the Crest of Seiros—for House Hresvelg.”

She shrugged. “It’s been a long time.”

“Why do you have this?” Ingrid looked up at her. “Who is Maurice?”

Marianne’s lower lip trembled. Beside her, Hilda stood.

“Hey,” said Hilda, “that’s kind of a touchy topic.”

“Oh,” said Ingrid, “please, if it’s a sensitive matter, pay me no m—”

“Maurice is the Wandering Beast living in the Edmund woods,” Marianne blurted, her hands curled into fists. “I was asked by the Church to hand it to him for safekeeping. He consented, but only at the cost of my life when I returned to retrieve it. That’s why I’m here.” She looked at Claude, her jaw set and her teeth clenched. “Isn’t it?”

Dorothea’s jaw dropped for the second time that day. “That’s what they did with the Sword? They gave it to a _Demonic Beast_? Is Rhea mad?”

“As if there were any doubt,” Lysithea mumbled.

“Well,” Dorothea continued, “we can’t just… let Marianne off herself for the sake of some stupid sword.”

Hilda slammed her hands down on the table. “That’s what I was saying!”

Claude put his hands up. “Hey, everyone. Calm down. We’re here to devise a plan. All right?” He folded his arms. “Marianne, you’re not sacrificing yourself. Hilda still needs someone to model all her jewelry for her.”

“Claude!” said Hilda, scandalized. “Don’t you dare make this about me!”

Marianne pressed her lips together and looked away, silent.

Claude looked at Dorothea. “Hey, so before we go any further with this… How is the Sword supposed to help? Edelgard wants this thing, like, bad. And Rhea’s willing to… Well, never mind. It’s obviously really important, but I never understood why. Yeah, sure,” he waved his hands, “the Crest of Flames is the Crest of the goddess who governs the world and blah blah, but I don’t understand how it’s supposed to help us stop Lord Arundel.”

“It would help Edie legitimize her claim to the throne,” explained Dorothea, “though that seems a less pressing matter at the moment than…” she stared at the earring on the table, as though it still had a bloodied ear attached to it, “that.”

“The Knights still haven’t found Rhea, either.” Claude pinched his chin. “We’re making good progress here in the east against Arundel, but he seems to have lost interest in anything east of Hevring.”

“Arianrhod is on the verge of collapse,” said Ingrid, grimly. “The eastern half of the Kingdom can hold out indefinitely, so long as we continue to receive support from the Alliance, but if House Hrym was meant to be a model for the rest of the war…”

“It’s suicide,” said Lorenz. “It’s utter madness.”

“And even so,” Lysithea added, “he thinks he’s making progress. Artificial Crests, two Crests, the creation of Demonic Beasts… All in the name of reviving the Nabatean race.”

“Which we can’t even be sure existed in the first place,” Dorothea grimaced. “Whatever his aims are, he has to be stopped.”

“House Bergliez has offered to share their strategies for dealing with numerous Demonic Beasts at a time,” said Lorenz. “Though if the information is not shared properly, it could fall into enemy hands.”

“Though that may not even matter,” Lysithea glanced up at him, “since his end goal is not to win the war, but rather to prove the existence of the Nabatean race—perhaps to become one himself.”

“Our main concern should be preventing the loss of life,” suggested Dorothea. “If people are still being trafficked from places like Brigid or Dagda, or even parts of the Empire…”

“We should also learn why Rhea was so determined to protect the Sword of the Creator,” said Claude.

“There’s a body in there,” said Dorothea. “I saw it.”

Everyone stared at her.

“It’s Jeralt’s daughter,” she explained. “Byleth. He told me so.” She paused, and when no one responded, she added, “She has the Crest of Flames, but Rhea tried some kind of experiment on her and…” She sighed. “Look, all I know is that the Crest of Flames is linked to the Sword, and they’re both special and Rhea very much wanted them protected. We’ll have to talk to her if we want any more answers.”

“Garreg Mach has been the site of skirmishes between the Empire, the Alliance, and the Kingdom ever since the war began,” said Claude. “No one’s been able to claim it yet.”

“It’s mostly between the Kingdom and the Empire,” Ingrid admitted. “Though I don’t think anyone will be able to claim it until all three nations are able to form a truce—minus the western Empire, of course.”

“That should be our first order of business then,” said Dorothea. “Parley with the Kingdom and end the skirmishes around the monastery.” She looked at Claude.

He let out a nervous little laugh. “Dimitri is… stubborn. I don’t like the look of my chances, if you’re asking me to mediate.”

“Agreed,” said Ingrid. “He and Edelgard have a complicated personal relationship. A truce wouldn’t happen overnight.”

Dorothea groaned. “This is stupid. Who cares about their little family drama? People are dying every day because they refuse to talk to each other.” She looked at Ingrid, mournfully. “Don’t tell me you can’t knock some sense into—”

“Dorothea,” said Ingrid. Her expression was strangely lucid. “Which of the two is more likely to listen to reason?”

She swallowed. “Edie,” she answered quietly.

“Dimitri may not listen right away,” Ingrid continued, “but given time…”

“Dorothea’s right,” Claude interjected. “We don’t have time to wait for Dimitri to get over himself. Is there anyone you can send in his stead?”

“Gilbert,” Ingrid murmured, “but he serves House Blaiddyd directly. Then there’s Rodrigue… Though he’s not likely to leave Fort Arianrhod now, and even less likely to leave the Kingdom if the fortress falls. Catherine shares only very tentative ties with House Charon, though she’d be the most interested in seeing a truce for the sake of bolstering Church forces so they can more efficiently search for Archbishop Rhea. Jeralt would be the obvious choice, but he disappeared around the same time as Rhea did.”

“That sounds like a mess,” Dorothea commented.

Ingrid cracked a smile. “You needn’t remind me.”

“We’re already sending Alliance troops across the border to defend the Kingdom,” said Claude. “Why are the Kingdom and the Empire still fighting?”

“Poor communication,” said Ingrid. “Though Edelgard’s forces fly the Crest of Flames, their armor and strategies still resemble that of the Empire. It’s difficult to determine who the enemy is, and who it isn’t. Ferdinand and Count Bergliez have been able to deescalate the situation at times, but that isn’t necessarily a guarantee.”

“It isn’t easy to make new uniforms, either,” said Lorenz. “Regardless, it seems as though we may need Dimitri and Edelgard to meet.”

Dorothea and Ingrid both frowned and looked at each other.

“It’s difficult to get in touch with Edie, nowadays,” said Dorothea. “Though I could probably manage it… I doubt she would bother to make the time unless she were guaranteed a conference with Dimitri.”

“And I’m sure Dimitri would have a long list of demands, in turn,” said Ingrid. She looked at Claude. “I’m afraid we’ll have to consent to one of your schemes willingly, this time.”

Claude smiled and rubbed his chin. “Oh? So you’re a fan of them now, are you?”

“Seizing Garreg Mach would virtually ensure a victory against Lord Arundel,” said Lysithea. “It was built by the Church in the middle of the continent for a reason. The only question is whether everyone will be willing to share. Troops from all three nations would be passing through the same territory, which is incredibly dangerous during wartime.”

“Lord Arundel’s men have proven they can sneak people into a tight-knit community—such as at the Academy—and turn them all into monsters, no less,” sighed Dorothea. “It’s enough to make anyone paranoid.”

Claude looked at Dorothea, and then at Ingrid, stroking his chin. Then he narrowed his eyes and covered his mouth.

“So…” he said. “You two are pretty friendly, right?”

“We were friends during our Academy days,” Dorothea offered, “though we’ve grown apart as of late, with the war happening and all. Oh, and she gave me a ring. It was a token of appreciation for when I saved her from being betrothed to some horrible lout in the Kingdom. It was very sweet of her.”

Ingrid blushed and looked away.

“A ring?” Claude stared at her.

“It was merely a piece of jewelry,” Ingrid protested. “I saw her wearing bracelets and earrings, and thought I might like to add to her collection.”

Claude glanced at Marianne and Hilda, for some reason, and then back at the two of them. “Are you sure there’s…” He held his hand out and waved between the two of them.

The blush hadn’t quite left Ingrid’s face yet. “There is nothing romantic happening between us.”

Dorothea nodded. “As much as I would love for that to be the case… Ingrid has turned me down, I’m ashamed to admit, on multiple occasions.”

Claude grinned a little. “But you’re a pretty talented actress, right?”

“Yes…” said Dorothea, keeping her gaze steadily on him. “Why?”

“Can you… pretend?” He looked at Ingrid. “Maybe you two were a little closer than everyone thought?”

“P-pretend?” Ingrid spluttered. “To be romantically involved? With _Dorothea_?”

“Yeah!” said Claude. “Pretend you met in Derdriu for a sizzling night out on the harbor. If Dimitri and Edelgard trust you both that much to send you out here…”

Dorothea laughed out loud, shaking so much that she had to steady herself by gripping the edge of the table. “Oh, Goddess, Claude… I’m a good actress, but I’m not that good of an actress.”

“Dimitri is terrible at seeing through people’s lies,” argued Claude. “Besides, Ingrid looks embarrassed enough that it could be totally convincing.”

“Please!” said Ingrid, to no avail. “This is a ridiculous… You could at least make it Sylvain!”

“Sylvain!” said Claude. “As though Dimitri would ever listen to a word out of that womanizer’s mouth. You, on the other hand, are as honest as they come.”

“Unfortunately,” she ground out, squeezing her eyes shut in frustration. She opened them again, and glared at him. “What is it that you would like us to do, exactly?”

“What usually happens in the operas, eh, Dorothea?” asked Claude, shooting a glance her way.

“Oh, there are so many stories about star-crossed lovers… I suppose we could feign our deaths, or something terribly insensitive like that,” she mused, putting a finger to her lips. “They would both be devastated, I’m sure. Though that might just make matters worse, come to think of it…”

He looked between the two. “Are, uh, either of you romantically involved right now, by the way? Like, would this actually be convincing?”

“If it’s a whirlwind romance?” Dorothea chuckled. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“A knight falling in love with a commoner is… well, a common thread in folk tales,” said Lysithea. “It wouldn’t be difficult to believe that the two of you fell in love sometime over the course of the war and eloped.”

“And then died?” asked Ingrid. “It wouldn’t matter to either of them unless we suffered some horribly tragic fate.”

“A double suicide!” Lorenz suggested. “The peak of romance.”

“Ew, no!” said Hilda, beside Marianne. “There’s nothing romantic about dying. Cut it out.”

“I have little faith in my acting abilities, myself,” Ingrid murmured.

“And, um, it may be difficult for…” there was a long pause, “other… reasons to convince Edie that I’m at all interested in you,” Dorothea added. “Though not completely impossible, it’s still going to take some work.”

Claude grinned. “Which is exactly why we’re all here, right?” He put his arms around Lorenz and Lysithea, albeit closer to Lorenz’s waist and Lysithea’s shoulders, considering their height difference. “C’mon, guys, help me out.”

“Well, I think you look beautiful next to each other,” Ignatz supplied, “though it doesn’t help unless you’re genuinely interested in one another.”

“I think you’re being ridiculous, Claude,” said Leonie. “Can’t we come up with a more practical solution?”

“If Edelgard’s willing to hear Dimitri out,” said Raphael, “why not take Dorothea to the Kingdom, Ingrid? If Dimitri trusts you, and you trust her…”

“You could ask for the king’s blessings for her hand in marriage!” Claude finished. “Perfect! Great idea, Raphael.”

Ingrid groaned into her hands. “This is so absurd…”

Dorothea giggled into her own. “Oh, come on, Ingrid. Nothing wrong with having a little fun at your surly king’s expense.”

“Dimitri can be… gullible,” said Ingrid, looking up, “but even he isn’t that gullible.”

“Is he?” asked Lysithea.

“Is he?” echoed Claude.

“I won’t do anything that might make Ingrid uncomfortable, mind you,” Dorothea told them.

“No,” said Ingrid, “it’s not that I’m… Considering there are much more important matters… If there are lives on the line, and all I have to do is pretend for a few days, then…”

Dorothea stared at her. “Ingrid? You don’t have to force yourself, dear.”

“I’m more worried that we won’t fool Dimitri, to be honest,” she admitted. “I have no objection to being in a false relationship with you, however strange that might sound.”

“Oh, well… I would gladly be in a false relationship with you,” Dorothea crooned. “We can be in false love together.” She winked. “And after all of this, it might even—”

“No,” said Ingrid.

“I tried,” Dorothea grinned. “It’s a shame, too. You’ve grown even more beautiful in the months that we’ve spent apart. Why, I almost mistook you for a completely different woman.”

“I’m flattered, but…” Ingrid frowned and turned to Claude. “I really don’t think I can do this, Claude.”

“What would you suggest, then?” asked Claude. “At least it was something.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Hilda muttered.

Ingrid glanced at Dorothea, and Marianne thought she could see a familiar look of trepidation in her eyes.

“You could accompany me to the Kingdom,” said Ingrid. “And…” She paused. “Though we may not be lovers, we were certainly close. Felix and Sylvain, and Mercedes and the others had friends outside the Kingdom, too. I believe Edelgard would be open to allowing that. Many of the others in our class were on good terms with her.” She looked down, and her brow creased. “I don’t know… if that will be enough to convince him. Though I would surely fall in love with anyone if it were enough to stop a war. Dimitri has closed himself off to all of us. He lives within the confines of his own mind, haunted by the ghosts of his past. I’m reluctant to share the news of House Hrym, as well—it wouldn’t make matters any easier.”

“The Kingdom…” said Dorothea. “To Fhirdiad?”

Ingrid nodded. “We can arrange an audience with King Dimitri. Think carefully about what you want to say. His sole interest is revenge for his family, and for the people of Duscur. Edelgard may only be related to Lord Arundel, but even that is enough to make him distrust her.”

“She doesn’t make herself easy to trust either, granted,” said Dorothea. “I haven’t seen her since we left the Academy. I can hardly tell whether she’s still alive or not—Hubert might as well have been covering for her death this entire time.”

Ingrid looked frightened. “You don’t mean to tell me…”

“No,” said Dorothea. “Probably not. But all the same…” She looked down. Then she looked up at Claude. “Well, you did go through the trouble of forcing us to meet each other again, so I may as well see this whole thing through.” She smiled politely at Ingrid. “I’d be happy to accompany you back to Fhirdiad, my dear Ingrid.”

Ingrid raised her brows. “Right.”

“That’s it, then?” asked Claude.

Marianne sheathed the sword and buckled it back onto her waist. “Once we seize Garreg Mach,” she asked, “then what?”

“Then we track down Rhea, figure out what she wants with that Sword—and uh, the body that’s apparently buried with it—see if that helps Edelgard defeat her uncle, and if it doesn’t, we figure out something else.”

“How we were going to save Marianne, anyway?” asked Hilda.

“Oh.” Claude grinned. “Well… I hear Lorenz and Lysithea have a lot of experience fighting Demonic Beasts.”

“You don’t mean to say…” said Lysithea, her eyes wide.

“Hopefully he doesn’t ask for Marianne’s life first; that kind of ruins the plan.”

Marianne let out a heavy sigh. Hilda placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and squeezed it.

“Don’t worry, Marianne,” she said. “The war’s not over yet.”

She looked down at the sword at her waist, and stared into the blinking red eye of the hilt—a shining red Crest Stone, to mirror the Crest running through her blood. The violent sentiment emanating from the sword had eased, somewhat, and she felt calm looking at it. Still, it hummed, a dirge wailing through her veins—in another life, in another kingdom, awaiting the Goddess’s return, so that she might one day deliver her soul unto her.

She started in her seat.

“Marianne?” Hilda looked at her, concern furrowing her brow.

“I saw it,” she said. The image was still burned into her mind.

“Saw… what?”

“She heard my prayers.” Marianne looked back at her. “The Goddess. She’s here.”


	7. Gentleman

At the very end of Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1182, Dorothea received a missive in the mail marked with the wax seal of House Riegan. It asked her to attend a conference in Derdriu, hosted by Claude and a number of their other former classmates from the Golden Deer. Rather interestingly, when held up to the light, one could see that it was also watermarked with the Crest of Flames. This meeting had been arranged by none other than Edelgard herself.

After requesting a temporary leave from her tour with the opera company, she set out for Derdriu. She didn’t know what to expect, albeit she wasn’t expecting much of anything, and traveled alone with a Levin sword and a handful of thunder spells and little else about her. It rained as she traveled north through Gloucester, but there were no assassins lying in wait to ambush her along the way, no Demonic Beasts to test her magical mettle, no fortuitous meetings with people she thought she’d never—well, scratch that last one.

As promised, Claude eventually replaced the carafes of pomegranate juice with actual wine, and after reporting her own findings from agents in the heart of enemy territory, she set about sipping the stuff. It was dry and intensely fruity, the alcohol going straight to her head. Hilda was unsurprisingly on her second or third glass, Lorenz was mentioning something or other about the “mouth feel,” Claude was teasing Lysithea about being too young to drink, and Ingrid sat in the corner of the room away from it all, in such a staunchly abstinent manner that it made all other teetotalers’ attempts to refrain from alcohol completely pale in comparison. She looked uncomfortable. The drunker part of Dorothea’s mind wanted to offer Ingrid something to drink, to take her mind off of whatever she was thinking about and help her relax.

A few more drinks, Dorothea thought, and she would find herself offering a lot more than that.

Something had happened during her private meeting with Claude (and Lysithea, who was the only other person in the room that Edelgard trusted completely) to make everyone distance themselves from Dorothea and Ingrid alike, which resulted in them sitting across from each other at one end of the table and everyone sitting clumped together at the other end, leaving a wide, extremely obvious berth between the two groups. Ingrid made no effort to engage with the others, and Dorothea was more than happy to sip wine alone, but together they just seemed horribly awkward, like unsuspecting former lovers forced into a blind date. Dorothea would have liked to attribute it to the fact that the Golden Deer knew each other better than they knew either Ingrid or Dorothea, but her drunken alter ego was telling her this was all intentional and that she might as well convince Ingrid to leave the room with her and bring an end to this abominable stalemate.

Ingrid looked up at her, drawn away from her apparent reverie. “Yes?”

“I take it you don’t like the wine?”

Her expression was unreadable. “I’d rather not, tonight. It’s a long way back to Fhirdiad.”

“Indeed.” Dorothea looked at her half-full glass—her third glass. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be taking this with me,” and as though Ingrid were simply allowing herself to be swept away by Dorothea’s whims, she stood up and trailed behind Dorothea all the way back to their guest rooms.

“Thank you,” she said, once they had stopped at the door to Ingrid’s room.

“Whatever for?”

“Giving me an excuse to leave that miserable situation.”

“Oh,” Dorothea laughed, twirling the glass in her hand. “You weren’t afraid it was just an excuse for me to get you alone somewhere?”

Ingrid smiled at that, and Dorothea thought she might be seeing things. Maybe this was brandy and not wine, and Claude was making fools of them all.

“And do what?”

She laughed louder at that. “Not while I’m trying to get drunk, dear. Don’t tempt me.” Come to think of it, this was actually her fourth. What had happened to the third?

“I’d say you’re doing a fine job of restraining yourself, for whatever that’s worth.”

“How ludicrous. I’m not some rabid animal incapable of controlling myself.”

“It’s as you say,” said Ingrid. “And therefore, I trust you.”

Dorothea sighed. “I might have agreed to our little rendezvous in front of everyone else, but…”

Raphael’s boisterous laughter echoed down the halls.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be the one with misgivings,” said Ingrid.

Dorothea downed the rest of her glass, whichever one it was. “I’m lonely, and you’re gorgeous. I’m hoping I’ll eventually become inebriated that I’ll say something that bothers you to the point that you’ll swear off any sort of association with me whatsoever.”

“Then…” Ingrid blinked. “You don’t want to accompany me to Fhirdiad?”

“I should,” she corrected, “but that doesn’t mean I’m particularly keen on the idea. I don’t…” She paused. “I don’t know. When I look at you, I just… It worries me, what comes to mind.”

“Why don’t we clear the air, then?” Ingrid suggested. She opened the door to her room. “Here and now. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s little more than a misunderstanding. You’re well-regarded by virtually all our classmates—myself included.”

Somewhere in the depths of her wine-fogged mind, she could see exactly what she wanted to tell her.

_That tramp. That little minx. That strumpet. Who does she think she is?_

_Hussy._

_Temptress._

_ Harlot._

_ Whore._

Her mouth felt dry. “I think not.”

Ingrid looked hurt. Dorothea felt devastated.

“All right,” she said. She pressed a slender hand to the door frame. “But will you still be accompanying me back to the Kingdom?”

Edelgard would never forgive her if she passed up the chance. “Of course. By the way, Ingrid,” she said, as Ingrid stepped over the threshold into her room.

Ingrid looked back. They were barely a few meters apart, and yet she seemed so far away as to be unreachable. “Yes?”

“Good night.” Dorothea smiled.

Ingrid smiled back. “Good night.” She made as if to close the door behind her, but instead stood and stared at her, brows furrowed. “Are you… sure you’re feeling all right? Should I get you some water, perhaps? Something to eat?”

“Not particularly, no,” she chuckled. “Goddess, Ingrid, I was drinking because I wanted to tell you something important and extremely intimate… but then I had the gall to go and forget what it was. This is awkward. I’m sorry. I think it’s because you’re the complete opposite of me…” She trailed off. Her brows knit together. “I’ll remember what it was. Eventually. It’s been a long day.”

“Indeed it has.” Ingrid looked confused, mystified, even, but genial all the same. Dorothea couldn’t tell whether she were simply being polite or whether she found her drunken stuttering to be legitimately endearing.

She wanted Ingrid to kiss her. She felt ridiculous for even thinking it.

“You don’t…” she began.

“Hmm?”

“You don’t still hold a grudge, or anything? From that time at the Academy? When I said I’d… pounce?”

Ingrid laughed. “What? That was so long ago. I know you didn’t mean it—I realize you must have been embarrassed by it then, but it doesn’t bother me at all now.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” said Ingrid—and there it was, the flicker that had been missing from her eyes until now, bold and bright, like rivers of molten steel— “would you?”

“Pounce?”

Dorothea studied her face. What Ingrid may have lacked in physical makeup, she compensated for in a mask of carefully cultivated politesse and formidable intransigence. It made her all the more dreadfully attractive, and stoked a terrible desire in Dorothea to tease whatever was left under the mask back out into the open. She wanted to tear it off and rip her apart. She was like that with Edie, too, she thought.

“Would you still be willing to travel with me if I said I did?”

Ingrid’s mouth fell open into an O.

_“Filthy little whore. Not even worth the asking price.”_

She felt so terribly alone.

_She felt a crackle from her fingertips then, saw the shock in the man’s face as he crumpled to the ground._

_ “She’s a mage! The brat’s a mage!”_

It was shameful to continue to seek forgiveness from her. Ingrid was so perfect and so flawless and beautiful, and Dorothea was just so—_filthy_—drunk—_unwanted_—”I’m sorry—”

“Dorothea, it’s just me.”

She was going to be sick.

She rushed back to her room and brought out the chamber pot, wracked by horrible nausea. Of all the things and all the people…

This wasn’t Ingrid’s fault.

She wasn’t going to be sick.

She put the pot away and cried into her mattress, overwhelmed by drink and exhaustion and the sheer shock of running into someone she’d hoped to never meet again. She felt worse for how the feelings were mixed with her own arousal, how she could have sworn there was something in Ingrid’s expression that betrayed a similar interest—she hated herself for thinking she had a chance; after all, Edelgard was merely a shadow to her now. They hadn’t seen each other in over a year, and she was busy fighting a war, and Dorothea was frustrated, and all her friends were getting hurt and she felt helpless and strung along and _used_, and how she hated feeling used. She questioned Edelgard’s feelings for her. She questioned her own feelings for Edelgard.

But mostly, she questioned why she ever believed that she would be able to love herself.

She was disgusting.

* * *

Her head swam.

She was going to turn into Manuela, she thought, her temples pounding as sunlight flooded through the windows and assailed her muddled vision. Someone had thought ahead to discreetly slip some medicine under her door; she took it with water, and while she waited for the medicine to take effect, freshened up and gathered her modest collection of things scattered about the room. She was packed before her head stopping aching. She had no idea how she was going to face Ingrid now. She still planned to make the journey to Fhirdiad, too. She wasn’t that selfish.

Stupid, though, she was definitely stupid. Stupid and tired and horny and lonely and terribly, terribly guilty. She packed all her belongings into a small leather bag, slung it over her shoulder, and opened the door.

“Good morning.”

“Oh, Goddess.”

It was Ingrid, packed and looking as chipper as ever. “Did you sleep well?”

“I definitely slept,” was her dry response.

“It’s nearly afternoon.” She smiled wryly. “Are you ready to leave?”

“As ready I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

Ingrid’s smile faded. “I appreciate your help. The Kingdom is in…” But it all fell on deaf ears. She already knew that Arianrhod was close to falling, that Dimitri was an awful king and that it was taking the combined efforts of the Alliance and the Church and the eastern Empire to keep the Kingdom from falling apart entirely.

She might have felt sorry for Ingrid, but she felt even more sorry for herself. Not in years had she felt this way, not since enrolling in the Academy—not since meeting Petra and Edelgard and all her other friends—and it came on so suddenly and so urgently that she had to wonder exactly what had brought all of these horrible feelings to light.

It couldn’t have been Ingrid.

“You know Edie wants to do away with the nobility?” Dorothea asked as they reached the stables of the von Riegan family’s Derdriu residence.

Ingrid smiled. “Hm,” she said. She bridled and saddled her pegasus—a powerful, stormy-eyed, gray stallion by the name of Thanatos who was as terrifying to look at as he was fond of his rider—and once she was done tacking him, guided him out of the stables and pulled herself up onto his flank.

She extended a hand once she was properly seated in the saddle. “Shall I help you up?”

“That’s very kind of you, but I’ll manage.” As long as they weren’t using his wings in any fashion, Dorothea figured they would be fine. She wasn’t an awful rider, even if she was far from experienced.

Ingridg them out of the city, past the entrance gates and into Riegan proper. Here and there were small shanties scattered along the rocky coast, and to their left were clusters of evergreen trees, all clumped together to make for a dense and shadowy forest. They were quiet as they continued along the path to Klaus Bridge, crossing the Begalta River. Ingrid was communicative, and her mount obedient, so the ride was as smooth as it could possibly be.

Smooth enough, in fact, to let Dorothea allow her mind to wander, and before she knew it, it was nightfall, and Ingrid was paying the toll to cross the bridge. There was a village on the other side. Ingrid suggested that they stay the night at the inn and continue their travels tomorrow.

“Of course there’s only one bed.”

She hadn’t been expecting anything different, but she was sure they weren't going to share it.

Ingrid smiled and looked at her. “I’ll gladly take the floor.”

“I’m not _that_ hungover.”

“We’re lucky they had rooms available. Now that spring is here, travelers are far more frequent in this area.”

“I asked around,” she said, pulling back the bedsheets, “but they don’t seem to have heard of any suspicious characters. I suppose we aren’t being followed—at least, not yet.”

“The Alliance is well-insulated from such affairs, is it not? The forests are dense and difficult to traverse. I can’t imagine it would be easy to travel anywhere but on the main road.”

Dorothea looked sullenly at her Levin sword, snug in its sheath and resting against the door.

“Let’s hope so.”

“You and I, I think we make for a fairly capable team. Certainly more than capable enough to handle whatever Lord Arundel throws our way.”

Dorothea looked at her, and thought about it. For one, she had a hard time imagining she could possibly keep up with Ingrid’s pegasus while on foot. Her magic could travel quite a ways off, though…

“I believe you’re right. And no doubt your king would throw a fit if anything ever happened to you.”

Ingrid glanced over shyly at her. “You think so?”

No. Were they like that? _No_. “You don’t…”

“It is a little embarrassing to think that His Majesty would treat me differently because we were childhood friends.”

“Come to think of it,” said Dorothea, “you were friends with all three of them, weren’t you? Dimitri, Felix, and Sylvain.” She whistled low.

Ingrid blushed. “Wh-what are you implying?”

“Nothing. I’m simply… in awe of your incredibly fortunate circumstances. How is it that your father hasn’t yet proposed that you marry one of them? Well, maybe not Felix; that would be a little awkward. But Sylvain and Dimitri—”

“I…” Ingrid looked down, grimacing. “If you have thoughts that you find difficult to express, then so, too, do I. Being friends with them is one thing, but being married to one of them is another matter entirely. I’ve never been in love, even with Glenn; I was betrothed to him from birth, so I was raised assuming that I would become his wife. I don’t really understand how… I suppose I was expecting it to happen naturally—but it hasn’t, and I’m afraid it might not ever.”

“Oh,” said Dorothea. “Well, never mind that. You certainly have more urgent issues to deal with.” Then she paused, and glanced at her. “I feel guilty for forcing you to sleep on the floor.”

“No,” Ingrid insisted. “We’ll be in Galatea by nightfall tomorrow, so long as we get an early start. This is nothing.”

“Right…” From here, they’d travel along the coast, and cross the border from the Alliance straight into Galatea territory in the Kingdom. Then it was a lengthy journey through the Tailtean Plains to the capital of Fhirdiad in Blaiddyd. For anyone else from the Empire, traveling to the Kingdom was anathema right now.

Dorothea looked at her. “Will I be OK? I mean… Will King Dimitri…”

“Annette and her father will be there,” said Ingrid. “I’ll let them know in advance. Dedue is quite reasonable, as well. It’s only Dimitri who can be stubborn at times. But we will do our best to accommodate you, in spite of that. The survival of the Kingdom depends on the cooperation of all three nations. We must work together.”

Dorothea laughed dryly. “I know several people who could stand to be reminded of that.” Then she sighed and flopped onto the bed. “I hope your father doesn’t mind your bringing a girl home.”

There was a hint of mirth in Ingrid’s voice. “I’ll explain your circumstances to him.” She laid out a modest blanket on the floor, and began to disrobe. Dorothea blushed and looked away. “I’m afraid we don’t have much to offer, but I’ll see to it that you’re treated well—not only as an ally of the Kingdom, but also as my trusted friend.”

Dorothea wriggled up to the head of the bed and sighed into the pillow. “Ingrid…”

“Do you mind if I put out the light?”

“No,” said Dorothea. “Go ahead.” She heard Ingrid lie down on her blanket on the floor, and grow still.

She fell asleep within seconds. Dorothea was almost impressed.

* * *

The next morning, after breakfast, they set out for Galatea. Ingrid made very few stops on the way, only to refill their water jugs and allow her pegasus to rest. Dorothea found herself quite sore by the time Ingrid told her that the manor was in sight—she could see the lights of the manor in the dark, but her vision blurred all the same. She was half-asleep by the time they made it inside, and Ingrid was taking her things and guiding her to her room, and she thought she saw Ingrid’s parents—her father was very blonde and her mother had dark brown hair—and she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the bedspread.

The morning after that was, well, awkward.

Ingrid’s father had a mustache, and short, groomed hair and green eyes. She was the spitting image of her father, but she had the eyes and soft expression of her mother, who was very reserved and very tolerant of everything that was going on at the breakfast table. Nothing about the food that was served suggested that they were impoverished, and Dorothea had no desire to ask whether this was normal for them or whether they had felt the need to prove their noble status to a guest, even to one whose relationship to their daughter had no effect on them at all. She handled the pleasantries and introductions well; Ingrid’s enthusiasm for Dorothea’s talents as a mage and as an opera singer eased any doubts they might have had about her working in their daughter’s best interests. She could still feel their eyes on her as the table was being cleared, but Ingrid assured her that she was safe, for now.

The afternoon was slow. Ingrid had many duties to which she had to attend—she hadn’t been back home in months, her father explained, as a result of fighting against the western Empire at Arianrhod, and wasn’t it fortunate that the king should send her as a diplomatic envoy to the Alliance capital—and so Dorothea was once more obliged to sit and listen to her father ramble about his lovely daughter and her friends, and about Glenn’s noble sacrifice and how hard the Tragedy of Duscur had been on all of them. The tea that was served was chamomile—unremarkable, yet classic—with a plate of biscuits on the side. He avoided asking after Dorothea’s circumstances, and Dorothea had the sense that her occupation as an opera singer and status as an Imperial commoner appeared to him as somewhat vulgar. She found herself longing for Ingrid’s company after a while, which was absurd given everything they knew about each other, but eventually Ingrid’s father found something better to do, at least, and gave Dorothea some room to breathe.

Around four in the afternoon or so, Ingrid invited Dorothea out to the stables, both for the novelty of it and to give them some much-needed privacy. It smelled like horse, but it was also a little warmer and Ingrid looked very happy and comfortable there, which was more than enough reason to consider staying.

“I think your father hates me.”

“You’re a commoner, an Imperial citizen, and a woman who happens to be my friend. Of course he does.” Ingrid smiled ruefully—and Dorothea thought, of course Ingrid would be ashamed to be seen with her. Who wouldn’t? “He sacrifices so much and asks for so little in return, and I can’t even give him what he wants.” She looked away. She sounded bitter. “I hate being home.”

“Oh, Ingrid…”

Thanatos was here, his head poking out between them. His attention was focused mostly on Ingrid—naturally, as she fed and cared for him—but he seemed to glance at Dorothea every once in a while, at the extra weight on his back.

“It’s not as though I have a dislike of men, or anything like that, even,” she said, stroking Thanatos’s muzzle. “But the way he talks about Glenn and marriage… The way he talks about me…” She scowled. “I know I’m being childish, but I wish I could convince him that there are other ways I can support our family, and our people.”

“I think it’s better that you’re more discreet in your choice of husband than not,” said Dorothea. “The last thing you want to do is end up in a loveless marriage—or worse, married to an abusive partner. I might have had something of an infamous reputation at the Academy for dating around, but I would never commit to a relationship that made me unhappy. Surely he understands that. Although,” she murmured, “it may be that he just doesn’t care.”

“I would say that I’m envious, but I know you don’t view your circumstances at all that way.” She sighed and let go of her pegasus, and he snorted softly at her. “I’ve not suggested the idea of same-sex marriage to him, although I have thought of it. And while it isn’t entirely unheard of, and it is sanctioned by the Central Church, I can understand why it isn’t common among the nobility…”

“Yeah,” said Dorothea, “the idea of adopting your heirs can get… touchy.”

“You told me that Edelgard plans to do away with the nobility?” Ingrid looked at her.

“It’s little more than a dream of hers right now,” Dorothea replied, “but yes, I did.”

She looked away again, out at the sun high in the sky. “I wouldn’t mind that, I think.”

Dorothea bit back a triumphant little grin.

_Knew it._

“Say, Dorothea…” Ingrid was still looking out the stable door.

“Yes?” she drawled, placing her hand on the post nearest to Thanatos’s mouth. He seemed quite content to just… stand there. She couldn’t imagine what being a pegasus was like.

“What does happiness look like, to you?”

“Getting philosophical now, are we?”

“I assume it involves a romantic partner of some sort.”

“Well, my dear Ingrid, that was certainly my intention when I first enrolled.” Now that she was beginning to lean over, she realized that she had unconsciously stood on the other side of Thanatos’s stall to put a little more distance between them. She let go of the post. “But now, if you asked me what happiness looked like, the partner is optional. My friends, on the other hand, are not.”

“Why?” Ingrid was looking at her now, curious. “What changed?”

“Apart from the fact that most unmarried men are honestly unbearable—don’t you dare give me that look, I know you’d agree—all the times I said I was looking for a partner to secure my future, to lift myself up out of poverty, the thought of it aroused a particular feeling of… dread.” She leaned against the post on the far side of the empty stall beside Thanatos’s, and stared at the ground. “I hated the way they looked at me. The way they treated me. With very few exceptions, the more money they had, the more likely they were to treat me like some kind of reward for acting half-decent for an evening. The ones that were honestly pursuing a relationship ended up being already married, or into little girls, or… It was horrible. All of it. Completely, absolutely atrocious.” Dorothea flapped her hand. “I didn’t even like Hubert or Ferdinand, and I still decided I’d rather spend more time with either of them than I would with any of my would-be suitors.” Then she stole a glance at Ingrid. “I suspect you feel the same?”

“I’d always had the sense you didn’t particularly enjoy any of the dates you’d been on,” said Ingrid, carefully. “I wondered whether we might have that in common, even though in so many other ways we’re unalike.”

“And now?” asked Dorothea. “What do you think?”

She looked down. Her expression was confused, unreadable and strange. “I was hoping… you would tell me whatever it was that was on your mind, in Derdriu. I’m not afraid of you.”

Dorothea swallowed. “Ingrid, are you…?”

“Interested?” Ingrid looked back at her, bright red. “N-no. Not romantically. But I feel as though there’s something keeping you from being honest with me, and it’s been on my mind ever since Claude reintroduced us. Why are you so afraid of me? Are you truly not in possession of all your faculties, as you would have me believe?”

She was at a complete loss for words. “I, um…” She looked down. In a matter of seconds, the heat from the stables had gone from comfortable to completely suffocating.

_Dirty filthy terrible rotten—_

“I had a difficult childhood.” She wanted to laugh at herself for saying it. What a tired line. “I fear I may have overstepped some boundaries and made you uncomfortable, and although I know you’ve already forgiven me for it…” She paused, and exhaled. “I have yet to do the same.”

“What would help?”

Dorothea smiled wryly at her. Always with the quick and simple solutions, this one. “I don’t…”

“Know? What were you afraid of doing? You weren’t thinking of killing me?”

“Killing you? Good heavens, Ingrid. What do you take me for, a bloodthirsty murderer?”

“I don’t know,” said Ingrid. “Why are you so upset?”

She thought about it. “Are you interested in women? At all?”

“I haven’t really…” She stopped herself. She seemed to be seriously considering the idea. “I hadn’t thought about it until quite recently, no. I never thought my father would allow it. But I want plenty of things that my father doesn’t. To be knighted, for instance. So I don’t see how being interested in women would be any different.”

“You’re being a lot more reasonable about this than I thought you would be,” said Dorothea, nonplussed.

Ingrid smiled. “I don’t see why I should deny myself the things I want on account of my father’s wishes for me. Surely there can be a middle ground?”

“True.” Dorothea paused and stared at her. “So, then… You don’t know if you are or you aren’t.”

“I’m certainly not opposed to being that way, if it is the case.”

“Oh.” Dorothea felt itchy. Maybe it was the hay. “I’m glad.”

“Was that what you were seeking?” Ingrid asked. “Confirmation that I wasn’t disgusted by your advances?”

She felt as though she had been transported back to their Academy days, when they were putting on the show in the cathedral and she was purring over how beautiful Ingrid was in her dress and all her makeup. “Well, yes, and… no.”

“No?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I still think you’re absolutely ravishing, even when you’ve been in the stables all morning and smell an awful lot like a horse. I mean… I’m attracted to you, Ingrid. There’s plenty more I’d like to do to you, but if you don’t reciprocate said attraction, then naturally I’ll refrain from any of it.”

Ingrid laughed, in something like relief. “I’m…” Her mouth quirked. “I’m not sure how much I can do about that.”

“You don’t have to do anything at all. Just… be with me.”

Ingrid looked her over, a quick head-to-toe sweep that had Dorothea blushing unexpectedly in response.

“Shall I kiss you?”

“P… Pardon?” Dorothea smiled in complete and utter bewilderment.

“To help ease the tension.”

“Oh, no. That wouldn’t ease anything.”

Ingrid was already striding forward. “I’ve been curious about it myself, actually, ever since Claude suggested that we pretend to be lovers. Is it really so different?”

Dorothea laughed nervously. “Oh, Ingrid… What if someone sees?” Good Goddess, what did Ingrid think she was doing, kissing another woman in her family’s stables? When Dorothea tried to make sense of it, she felt as though her face might overheat, so she simply pressed herself against the singular post and surrendered herself to her fate.

“Then we might finally begin a conversation that I had been planning to have for a while now, anyway.” They were now but a scant few paces apart. If Ingrid stepped any closer, then they would be kissing.

Ingrid grinned roguishly. “Are you uncomfortable with this request, milady?”

Dorothea turned away and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, feigning distress. “If you’re going to treat me like this, then at least be a gentleman about it.”

She felt a gloved hand on her chin, nudging it ever so slightly forward, and then their gazes met.

The kiss was soft, but firm, and fleeting. By the time it ended, Dorothea barely registered that they had kissed at all, only noticing that something had changed when Ingrid began to step away.

Ingrid’s brows knit together. She appeared to be deep in thought.

“So?” Dorothea asked. Her pulse raced as she tried to piece together what on earth had just happened; no wonder Sylvain was always so intimidated by her. “How was it?”

Ingrid ran a thumb along her lower lip, and poked her tongue out of her mouth, as if she were still tasting Dorothea on it.

Her breath caught in her throat.

_Goddess._

“Not so different,” she finally confirmed, turning to look at her. “Though I think it’d have been better if you weren’t so stiff.”

Dorothea opened her mouth, and then straightened up and willed herself to stop staring. “Shall we try again, then?” She smiled at her. “I’ll make sure to be properly prepared, this time.”

Ingrid smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tl;dr what if Dorothea was the one with internalized homophobia and Ingrid was enthusiastically bicurious: discuss


	8. King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for a while. Taking a break to work on some other projects.
> 
> UPDATE: Fic has been dropped.

Upon waking in her bed in the westernmost guest room of Galatea Manor, the first thing Dorothea did was begin to compose an imaginary letter in her head.

_ Dearest El,_

She rose and headed for the vanity, which had a wash basin placed atop it.

_I may have found a woman who is an even more terrible flirt than I am._

She took the small bar of unscented soap that had been set beside the basin, splashed her face with water, and then began to wash her face and her hands. She could feel the events of yesterday being scrubbed off of her skin, pore by pore, until her face was white and aglow in the vanity mirror and her fingers turned red from the cold.

_ Her name is Ingrid Galatea._

Then she picked up the gold chain of her necklace, through which Edelgard’s ring had been looped, and fastened it around her bare neck.

_ I believe you might already know her._

Ingrid had not, in fact, unearthed a secret cache of romantic feelings lurking beneath the surface of her conscious affect, but she was surprisingly impish and also really, incredibly attractive. She had relaxed tenfold in Dorothea’s presence after their little dalliance in the stables, and was sweet, and kind, and beautiful, and made Dorothea desperately wish she had been born a man so that she could court Ingrid in the traditional way, and not in the way women tended to do so with each other, with silver tongues and batted eyelashes. Ingrid was not unobservant, per se, but she was less impressed with pretty words and poetry than she was with feats of heroism and dramatic displays of courage and sacrifice. Dorothea could never compare to Glenn, or Dimitri, or whoever it was that she had on her mind nowadays.

The ruby on Edelgard’s ring glittered prettily in the early morning sun. Dorothea had a nervous habit of picking up and biting the chain whenever it happened to be in reach, and was about to do so, when she noticed the chain halfway between her throat and her mouth, and released it. The ring dangled off of the chain, scattering pink light across the walls, and Dorothea could almost picture the baffled look on Edelgard’s face as she told her that she had kissed Ingrid Galatea on the way to the capital. She could have done worse, and the circumstances were highly unusual, and Edelgard wasn’t the jealous type—at least, Dorothea hoped she wasn’t—so in the grand scheme of things, Dorothea believed that this particular extravagance would have little effect on their relationship, and certainly less than the growing number of months that they had spent apart.

She completed her letter thus:

_ She is so thoroughly shameless that it beggars belief, even from a lowborn creature such as myself. I implore you; please deliver me from the abject manipulation of my senses by her insidiously womanly charms, else I fear I may be lost to you forever._

_ Yours in faith,_

_ Dorothea_

She glanced at the wardrobe, inside of which she had placed her shift and her gown and coat and all the other clothes she had packed for the northern cold. Even then, after she was fully dressed, she’d feel like a mere accessory compared to her traveling companion, who had valiantly endured her parents’ suspicious gazes and incessant questioning all throughout dinner.

Ingrid, it appeared, had received the brunt of the vitriol that would have normally been reserved for Dorothea herself. Before retiring to her own room, Ingrid again assured her that Dorothea was in no danger of being criminalized or accused of spying for the Empire or anything like that, though the more times Ingrid had to say it, the less Dorothea was convinced.

She packed her things, and descended the stairs and exited through the front door to see Ingrid and her mount outside. Dorothea suddenly felt sheepish.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” she said, as Ingrid extended her hand.

“Don’t mind it,” Ingrid replied, helping her up. “I didn’t sleep well, so I did some extra chores around the stables to keep myself occupied.”

“Have you already eaten?” Dorothea asked, astonished.

“I did.” Ingrid passed her a small cloth, filled with three freshly baked bread rolls. “From this morning. I also brought along some dried and salted meat, and a few vegetable pies—we should find a place to stay along the way. There’s a few towns scattered along the road to Fhirdiad, in the Tailtean Plains.”

“Right,” said Dorothea.

“I’m not sure if I should be asking your forgiveness for yesterday,” Ingrid said, with a quiet chuckle. She applied pressure to Thanatos’s flank, and he began to walk forward. “I may have overstepped your boundaries, myself.”

“Oh, no,” Dorothea laughed. “That was… surprising, but not unwelcome. You’re handsome with short hair, you know? And the ladies do love a knight.”

“Unfortunately for you,” Ingrid replied, “I haven’t eyes for any one of them.”

_ Careful_, Dorothea reminded herself, pressed to Ingrid’s back as she was. Ingrid was a magnificent rider, and Dorothea had no complaints about her handling of her mount or about anything else regarding their mode of transport, but it had required them to grow very comfortable with each other very quickly. She thought it fortunate that Ingrid was so disciplined (and unattracted to her), or else their journey might not have progressed so smoothly until this point.

Galatea was beautiful in a desolate way: cold, barren and ravaged by lava flows, but also earthy and alien and sulphurous and strange. The grounds of the manor were covered in scrub and had some land fit for grazing, but the closer one veered toward Ailell, the more apparent the local volcanic activity became. Following the road to the Tailtean Plains, the scrub turned into wheat fields and wide swathes of farmland—the vast majority of which belonged to House Blaiddyd. The Oghma Mountains were behind them now, and the land was rapidly becoming flat. It would take them hours to finally reach the plains, but once they did, Ingrid paused at its edges and stared.

They dismounted and laid out a blanket along the side of the road for lunch. Dorothea’s legs were already cramping, but she tried to ignore it as they ate.

“Two more days,” Dorothea murmured, clutching the crust of her vegetable pie. “Two more days, and we’ll finally be in Fhirdiad.”

“It’s not so bad, when you don’t have to travel alone.” Ingrid filled Thanatos’s feedbag with hay and attached it to his bridle, and then sat down beside her and unwrapped her own rations after confirming that he was able to eat. “The whole way to Derdriu, I was consumed by my own horrible thoughts. Sylvain and Felix are still fighting the war down in Arianrhod, and Mercedes is with them. Ashe is doing intelligence work under Lord Rodrigue. We’ll be seeing Dimitri, Annette, and Dedue, but the others…”

Dorothea glanced at her. “And?” she asked. “What about now?”

“Well,” said Ingrid, “now I have you to keep me company, and I’m grateful for that.” She smiled at her, and then looked down at her own food. “If you’ll excuse me…”

Dorothea laughed. “As if I could ever get in the way of you and your one true love.”

Ingrid ate twice as fast as her, and was watching Dorothea rather intently once she had finished.

“Ingrid, my dear! Why, you’re making me blush.”

“Oh.” She looked away. “Sorry. There’s nothing else to look at but the plains.”

“I mean…” Dorothea flipped her hair over her shoulder and gazed alluringly in her direction. “On the contrary, you can stare all you’d like. I know I’m a lot to take in.”

Ingrid snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I must at least be more interesting to look at than those boring old plains.” She batted her eyelashes at her. “Don’t you think?”

Ingrid grinned. “You’re going to make them self-conscious.”

Dorothea turned around and stared at the rolling waves of grain. “I don’t know. There’s so many of them; I don’t think they mind fading into the background.”

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Ingrid asked, suddenly. “That Galatea is so barren, and Blaiddyd is like… this.”

“It could all be yours, too,” Dorothea murmured, staring into the blanket, “if you married him.”

Ingrid’s silence was harsh.

Dorothea dared to look up at her. Ingrid was glowering so viciously that even the stalks of grain around her appeared to wilt.

“I don’t want to be his wife. I want to be his equal.”

“That’s what—well, that’s what marriage should be.”

“Is it?” she asked. “I don’t want to have to marry him to secure my family’s future. Mercedes would understand—or Sylvain. I want to support him, and I want to help him, but he isn’t letting us do that. And all the while, people are sacrificing their lives for him. The people of the Kingdom are dying. And for what?” She pursed her lips and looked away. “He’s a damned fool, and yet everyone is afraid to raise their hand against him. It isn’t fair that he’s allowed to wallow in misery while everyone else is forced to compensate for his complete and utter incompetence. What good is a king if he cannot rule? What good is the nobility if they cannot meet their vassals’ demands? I do agree with Edelgard. Especially if the current system leads to situations like this.” Ingrid stood up. Her expression barely softened. “I’m sorry. I… I do care for Dimitri as a dear friend, very much. But it sickens me to see what he’s become. He’s better than this. And everyone should know better than to tolerate his childish behavior.”

“Ingrid…”

“When I kissed you,” she said, “it was partly out of a sense of rebellion, I’ll admit. It felt… good, to do something my father wouldn’t have necessarily liked or approved of. Perhaps too good.”

Dorothea swallowed.

“‘Can I bring myself to love him?’ ‘Should I bring myself to love him?’ Those were the thoughts running through my mind on the way to Derdriu. If I made myself available to Dimitri, would it be out of a sense of obligation to my family, or would it be because I pitied him, or because I truly cared for him? I hate… Honestly, I adore Sylvain, but I hate having to clean up after his romantic entanglements. If I must marry a man, then I don’t want to have to apologize for his behavior. Why would I want to swear my life to someone who can’t even be trusted to be responsible for himself? If there is food in Blaiddyd, then the people of Galatea should never have to be starving or poor. It shouldn’t matter who is married to whom. I would rather close my heart off to everyone than live a life of servitude to a man who holds my family’s fate in his hands.” Ingrid bared her teeth, shaking her head. “It’s disgusting.”

Dorothea stood. “I…” She reached out her hand, and then faltered. “I’m so sorry. I know it must be hard.”

Ingrid shook, trembling with muted anger. “The worst part is that I feel powerless to do anything about it,” she whispered.

Her body reacted faster than her brain, and she found herself pulling Ingrid into a hug. “Two more days,” she murmured. “Two more days, and we’ll finally be in Fhirdiad.”

Ingrid didn’t resist. She buried her face in Dorothea’s shoulder, and let out a sharp, wordless exhale.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

It was difficult—nigh-on impossible, really—for Dorothea to keep her hands off of Ingrid after that. She had a promise to keep, but Edelgard felt so frustratingly far away, and Ingrid was here and she was warm and she was _vulnerable_ and _lonely_ and all of those things combined made Dorothea very desperately want to touch her, even if the better part of her screamed that that was exactly what Sylvain would have done and exactly the reason why Ingrid wanted nothing to do with him. She had the feeling that Ingrid would reject her advances anyway (and rightfully so), and settled for keeping her hands locked around Ingrid’s waist and nowhere else.

At nightfall, they were still traveling through the plains. The room at the inn was cramped, and Dorothea insisted that Ingrid have the bed, going so far as to threaten to sleep on the floor next to her if she refused. Another day would finally see them out of the plains, but not quite reaching Fhirdiad, and the third would find them reaching the city outskirts.

Those days were long. They were so damnably long, and Dorothea so frustrated that on the third day, even Ingrid began to notice how restless Dorothea was behind her, and offered to stop and let her rest.

“Nervous?” Ingrid offered as Dorothea dismounted her pegasus.

“No,” Dorothea admitted, “it’s just that being so close to you without being able to touch you is driving me a little mad. But this is nothing compared to what you’ve had to endure, so I’ll find a way to deal with it that doesn’t involve bothering you.”

“Oh.” Ingrid was suddenly very red. “I’m—”

“Don’t be sorry.” She pressed her fingers to her chest, where Edelgard’s ring dangled off of her necklace underneath her clothes. “I’m, um… I’m taken, regardless. I shouldn’t be thinking about you, anyway.” She grinned and winked. “Sorry if you were hoping for a chance.”

Ingrid laughed. It was the most relaxing sound she had heard in days. Then she realized something. “I-I kissed you. Didn’t I?”

“Oh, that? That was hardly a trifle. Don’t worry about me; I’ll disclose all that happened between us, and it should be perfectly fine.”

“Are you sure?” Ingrid asked. Her eyes were wide. “I hadn’t known. If I had known, then I would have…”

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “I swear to Sothis, Ingrid, keep babbling on like that and I might just have to kiss you again.”

She clamped her mouth shut.

Dorothea smiled at her. “But by the Goddess, you are adorable. If I had known just a little earlier that you were questioning, then I would have…” She made an obscene noise in the back of her throat. “It’s a completely different experience, having a relationship with a woman.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” said Ingrid, but she was laughing, and _Goddess_, was she beautiful.

“In another lifetime, I suppose, things could have worked out between us,” said Dorothea, wistfully. “At any rate, I wish you luck in all your endeavors, romantic or otherwise. You deserve someone who treats you as their partner and as their equal, regardless of status, or gender, or whatever else it is that sets the two of you apart.”

“Thank you,” said Ingrid, and took Dorothea’s hand, and squeezed it.

The ghost of her touch lingered on Dorothea’s skin all the way to Fhirdiad.

* * *

Dorothea had only ever been to the Kingdom’s outskirts, during leisure trips with Manuela and her other friends from the opera company, or as a result of directors who got a little too adventurous and decided to put on shows in cities beyond the borders of the Empire. She had heard of the mighty fortress city of Fhirdiad, but never before had she laid eyes on it.

The gates that opened to let them in late that evening were massive, yes, but so were the stone walls that marked the city limits, and the townhomes that rose three or four stories up; the streets were far from deserted, even, still rumbling with activity long past nightfall. Ingrid told her that she’d put them up in an inn, though as a Kingdom soldier and the heir to Galatea, she’d almost certainly be recognized on the spot.

Everything about their arrival had happened very fast, and the next morning she was on Ingrid’s pegasus again crossing into Castle Fhirdiad, this time. It was all very grand and stately and there were soldiers bowing and greeting them and people who greeted Ingrid by name, and Ingrid put her pegasus away in the stables and led her up to the throne room, where King Dimitri waited for them.

He had grown out his hair, and looked older and a bit more ragged than Dorothea remembered him. Ingrid bowed upon seeing him, although Dorothea knew she was merely doing it out of custom and not at all out of respect. Dedue stood beside him, ever the loyal retainer, and Dorothea suddenly felt incredibly isolated.

“Ingrid.” Then he turned to look at Dorothea. “You brought a citizen of the Empire here. Why?”

“Please allow her to explain herself,” said Ingrid.

Dimitri growled. “Fine, then.” He gestured to Dorothea. “Speak.”

“Well,” she began, “Ingrid and the people of Galatea have treated me very kindly, even with our nations’ relationships being—”

“I don’t care,” Dimitri hissed. “Why are you here?”

Dorothea clenched her teeth. “If you would only—”

“Silence!” Dimitri’s voice echoed off the walls. “Do not waste my time, Imperial cur.” His eyes narrowed. “Say your piece, or you may find that I have no time for you at all.”

Dorothea glanced to Ingrid. Her face may as well have been set in stone. Then she faced Dimitri. “Princess Edelgard requests a parley at Garreg Mach to discuss the skirmishes that have been happening around the monastery’s borders.”

“Edelgard…” Dimitri’s voice rumbled in his throat. “So this is the kind of game she wants to play, is it?”

She held her breath.

Dimitri slouched in his seat, clutching one of the throne’s armrests. “What does she want, then? A truce?”

“She—”

He held out his hand. “No. Don’t answer that.” He smiled, thin-lipped and mirthless, and hunched over, placing his hands on his knees. “I will hear it from her myself.” Then he stood up.

Beside her, Ingrid started in surprise. “Your Majesty…”

“I’ve heard enough,” muttered Dimitri. “Take the Imperial woman to the dungeons.” He swept past Dedue and out of the throne room.

Soldiers were already encroaching upon her, and Dorothea knew that Ingrid would never raise a hand against her king—at least, not now, and not here. As Ingrid followed behind Dimitri, she gave Dorothea a meaningful look.

There was an armed soldier on either side of her now, each grabbing one of her forearms. She made no effort to resist. Dedue stood behind her.

“His Majesty will negotiate the terms of your release with the Imperial princess,” he said, stoically as ever. Then his voice grew a little quieter. “Though I do not believe it will be long.”

Dorothea laughed, then, as the soldiers took her away.

He knew, didn’t he?

Everyone did.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is on hiatus until the end of the year (Dec 2019).


End file.
